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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28424007">Of College Loans and Candy Kisses</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnFazed/pseuds/UnFazed'>UnFazed</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Angst, College student Hajime Hinata, Fluff, Hajime just wants to pay off his debt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentioned use of Alcohol, Nagito just wants to make a friend and doesn't know how, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Sick Komaeda Nagito, Slow burn? I think it’s a slow burn, Sugar daddy? more like sugar friend</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:06:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>45,182</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28424007</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnFazed/pseuds/UnFazed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s taking a long drag from his cup, still lost in thought, when Kazuichi’s voice breaks the tension. </p>
<p>“Dude, just get a sugar daddy! Pay off those loans real quick and get some rent while you’re at it.” </p>
<p>Hajime chokes as the last drops of coffee slide uncomfortably down his throat. Kazuichi’s tone is far too normal for what he just said and it makes Hajime uneasy. Something tells him his friend isn’t joking. </p>
<p>“Kazuichi, what?” Hajime cocks an eyebrow and stares right at the pink haired boy to confirm that, no, he had not been joking.<br/>-- <br/>Or:<br/>--<br/>In which college student Hajime Hinata can't fathom how he'll pay rent, and Nagito Komaeda thinks the only way to make a friend is to pay one.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito, Kuzuryu Fuyuhiko/Pekoyama Peko</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>204</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>428</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello! Welcome to not only my first multi-chapter story, but also my first story for Danganronpa! This chapter, and the story as a whole, has gone through a lot of revisions. But I finally have one that I’m happy with, so I hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nagito dreams of tropical islands. There’s cottages, and fireworks, and girls with red fingernails; and when he wakes up the cloying smell of copper always lingers in the air. </p><p>They’re pleasant dreams, usually. The island looks like a nice place to be. Much better than the stark, sterile office of Doctor Yasuke Matsuda. There’s no sea breeze here, nor the enveloping warmth of the tropical sun. Just blank white walls, and uncomfortable black chairs, and-</p><p>“What’s your idea of a perfect life, Nagito?” </p><p>It’s such a blunt question that it throws Nagito off. </p><p>There’re so many people here today. Dr. Matsuda, of course, along with his nurse, a palliative care doctor, and the social worker they conjured up when Nagito told them he had no one to take with him to the appointment. He’s still a little miffed about that one, honestly, because he’s never taken anyone along before. </p><p>“You can’t just ask me that.” Nagito’s response is just as blunt and he swears he can see Dr. Matsuda’s lips turn up minutely. “I’m not the kind of person who gets a perfect life.” </p><p>Then Matsuda isn’t smirking anymore. An uncomfortable silence blankets the room. </p><p>“Being sick doesn’t mean you can’t have a fulfilling life, Nagito,” the social worker comforts. “I know you may feel there’s no hope, but we’re going to work with you to make the most of the time you have left.” </p><p>And, ahh, there it is. ‘The time you have left.’ Nagito’s been waiting for them to slip up and say it like that. His lips pull back into a hollow smile. </p><p>“Yes, we have much to discuss in the way of treatment. But first it’s important to establish the kind of life you envision leading.” The palliative care doctor chimes in. Nagito didn’t bother catching her name. Or maybe he did, and he’s already forgotten it. </p><p>“I don’t want to talk about all of this.” Nagito says. His voice comes out so small he can barely hear it himself. </p><p>“Well you don’t have a choice really,” Matsuda snaps, “considering this isn’t something that will just go away.” </p><p>Yasuke Matsuda is harsh, and he talks to Nagito like he’s a child, but he’s the best neurologist in the country. And to his credit he really did look sad when he broke the news to Nagito. So he will put up with the unpleasant personality. </p><p>“What Doctor Matsuda means,” the uninvited social worker says as she flashes Matsuda a withering glare, “is that while we are unable to cure your illnesses, we want to help you live a comfortable life. But we can’t do that if we don’t know your wishes.” </p><p>“I haven’t given it much thought, I guess.” </p><p>Matsuda snorts. Nagito twists his hands in his lap and looks down. </p><p>There’s not much in Nagito’s life besides his house by the ocean and his private library. He goes to the bookstore twice a week, and the coffee shop downtown if he’s feeling up to it. He eats meals in the gazebo near his pond when the weather is nice, or on his bedroom balcony when it’s raining.</p><p>He doesn’t have much in the way of companionship, except maybe the children of his late parents’ friends. But they’re loud, and they dislike the way Nagito talks, so he rarely sees them. His house staff are always around; but they’re paid to be there, so it hardly counts. </p><p>“I guess, really, I just don’t want to be in pain,” Nagito whispers. “I don’t want to forget things, and I don’t-” </p><p>The lump in his throat cuts him short. He can’t cry here. Not in front of Matsuda. </p><p>“Please, don’t feel pressured. It’s a lot for us to ask of you without any warning.” The palliative care doctor places a hand gently on Nagito’s trembling ones. She gives a little squeeze and smiles, but Nagito can see the pity in her eyes. It disgusts him, immensely so, but he can’t blame her. He is awfully pathetic. </p><p>A folder plops gently onto the desk in front of him. The doctor continues. </p><p>“This is a packet of resources. It’s something I give to all my patients. Take a look through, and we’ll meet again when you feel ready to discuss more.” She pauses, and then; “this is a lot to handle, Nagito. We don’t want you to feel alone.” </p><p>Which is so funny, really. Nagito could almost laugh. </p><p>His hands tighten in his lap, knuckles turning white with the strain, as he struggles to breathe past the lump in his throat. The room is quiet and Nagito realizes that they’re all waiting for him to reply. It makes everything astronomically worse. </p><p>“I’d just like to go home, I think.” Nagito says, voice meek. He sounds like a child. He feels like a child, with the sugary voices and careful words the doctors are using. It’s like they think he can’t understand the news. Like they think he hasn’t been aware for months that he’s dying. </p><p>“Me too.” Matsuda mutters from behind the papers he’s looking at. It was clearly meant to be under his breath; but the room is so silent it was impossible to miss. His nurse looks thoroughly embarrassed beside him. </p><p>“Doctor Matsuda, that is entirely unprofessional,” she snaps. Nagito likes her. She’s old enough to be his mom, and the thought of someone scolding the imposing Yasuke Matsuda is enough to make Nagito laugh. </p><p>It’s breathy; more like a short wheeze than a giggle. Matsuda’s eyes flick instantly to Nagito at the short burst of sound. </p><p>“You can still find the humor in things. That’s good.” One corner of Matsuda’s mouth quirks into something reminiscent of a smile. “I was worried for a second that you were choking.” </p><p>Matsuda taps the papers he’s holding on the desk, stacking them into a neat pile, before jotting down a note in one corner. There’s scarcely room for another addition. Illegible handwriting litters the margins of the paper, stuffed in between charts and numbers and latin words that Nagito doesn’t understand. </p><p>Nagito’s eyes follow Matsuda’s hands as he slides the papers into an ugly blue folder marked ‘Komaeda’. He tucks it neatly into a wire rack situated at the edge of the desk, right beside a simple black picture frame. Inside is a picture of a woman with shiny, auburn hair. Her eyes are squeezed shut, mouth open in a beaming smile as though she’s laughing. Matsuda’s arms are wrapped tightly around his waist from behind. He’s smiling, too, and he’s looking at her in a way that makes Nagito’s chest hurt. </p><p>Something sticky climbs it’s way up his throat and to the back of his skull. It blankets his mind until all he can see is the warmth in Matsuda’s eyes and the way his arms lovingly envelop her. </p><p>“Nagito? Are you alright?” </p><p>Nagito’s eyes are blurry. The social worker is leaning forward to meet his gaze, her eyebrows furrowed together in concern. His voice clenches around the response that no, he is not alright. He’s just been given a death sentence and he has no one to lean on. He’s going to die the same way he lives, pathetic and alone. </p><p>“I- um, please. I don’t feel very good anymore.” Nagito whispers. </p><p>Matsuda looks scared for a moment. He must think Nagito is going to be sick, and Nagito knows how much he hates the sight of things like that. He wonders how Matsuda acts when his girlfriend is ill. </p><p>“Maybe it’s best if we end here then, Nagito.” Matsuda offers. He’s regained his composure, save for the nervous edge to his tone. “I’ll have my secretary book you an appointment for next week. There are still lab results I’d like to go over with you.”</p><p>Matsuda stands from his chair. His lab coat is creased at the bottom from sitting for so long. Nagito should say something, should thank him for his time, but the words won’t come out. </p><p>“Nagito? Do you need a moment to sit or are you ready to go home?” Matsuda’s nurse pipes up. Her voice is gentle, and something about it makes Nagito’s chest clench again. He doesn’t know if he’s ready, really. He doesn’t want to stay here with the doctors pitying eyes; but he doesn’t want to go home either and face the empty, echoing nothingness. </p><p>“Nagito? Did you hear-” </p><p>She doesn’t have time to finish the thought before Nagito is jolting to his feet. The world tilts forward, and Nagito grabs the chair’s arms to keep from pitching onto Matsuda’s desk. The corners of his vision are fuzzy. </p><p>Immediately, there’s hands on his upper arms. Someone is speaking, but the words don’t register in his mind. Everything is diluted. The desk in front of him distorts in a way that could be purely imaginative, or entirely real, and Nagito can’t tell the difference. A laugh bubbles past his lips and from the corner of his eye he catches the nurses off-guard expression. </p><p>Maybe he’s dying right now. Maybe Matsuda was wrong, and instead of months he has only minutes left. Nagito squeezes his eyes shut as nausea crashes over him so violently he almost vomits on the spot. His mouth floods with saliva, but he’s still laughing, so it slips past his teeth and down onto his chin. </p><p>“Let him be. Get him back into the chair and give him a moment to breathe.” Matsuda’s stern voice breaks the cacophony in his head. </p><p>Then the hands are off him, and he’s sitting, and the cold steel of Matsuda’s stethoscope is all he can feel. The room is eerily quiet as Matsuda listens to Nagito’s racing heart, takes in the uneven stutter of his lungs, and then pulls back to stare deep into his wide, mottled green eyes. </p><p>“You should have told me about these episodes, Nagito. I know this isn’t the first time.” And then, calmer, “it doesn’t have to be this way. I’m going to do all I can to help you. I hope you know that.” </p><p>Which is so utterly, absolutely un-Matsuda-like that Nagito can’t bring himself to do anything but stare. His lips are pressed into the same hardened, displeased line; his eyes carefully shuttered and professionally blank. But the hand on his arm, that squeezes just enough to keep Nagito grounded, is new. He can feel Matsuda’s thumb swiping back and forth over the layers of his jacket. It’s calming, and it makes Nagito think back to the way things were, and could have been, and why Matsuda really is his doctor. </p><p>“I have rounds in five minutes. Are you well enough?” Matsuda asks, genuinely. Nagito knows, somehow, that Matsuda really will let him stay here longer if he needs to. </p><p>“No, I,” Nagito coughs, clears his throat. “I’m okay now. Thank you, Doctor Matsuda. I wouldn’t want to interfere with your obligations. I’ll go.” He gives a thready smile that feels so obviously fake but hopefully looks convincing. It must not, with how Matsuda’s mouth contorts, but he says nothing in response. </p><p>“Good. In that case, enjoy the rest of your day. Don’t forget to make your next appointment on the way out. One week from now.” Matsuda’s normal assertion is back. He loops his stethoscope around his neck. “If you feel as though anything is worsening, contact me immediately. Take care of yourself.” </p><p>Matsuda scoops a handful of folders into his arms. He’s out the door before Nagito’s even stood to leave, his nurse trailing behind him as he barks something complicated at her. </p><p>He exchanges robotic farewells with the palliative care doctor, and smiles numbly when the social worker presses her card into his palm. “I’d like to talk about your support system, if you would be willing,” she’d said.</p><p>It’s so pathetic. Truly. </p><p>-</p><p>Nothing makes Nagito feel better. </p><p>It’s to be expected, he supposes, but still. His library is too stuffy, and the light in his private sitting room is too bright, and the sound of the waves from his balcony is too loud. He made the mistake of leaving a pamphlet out in his dining room, and now his staff are all aware of the illnesses plaguing him. It wasn’t like he had planned to keep it a secret- they’d have to find new jobs after he died after all- but he had wanted to tell them with a bit more tact. </p><p>That was something he was trying to get used to now, too. Dying. </p><p>It’s easier to justify staying in bed until eleven, or spending a fortune on books he’ll never have time to read. He can remodel the guest bedroom and finally be rid of his parents' uptight decorating. The formal sitting room can turn into a lounge, and didn’t he want a new patio just because? </p><p>It’s motivating until he realizes that he still eats dinner alone, and that his bed is still too large for one person. There’s no point in renovating the third guest bedroom because no one will ever stay in it. Nagito doesn’t need to buy the latest gaming console or patio set because he will be the only one to use them. </p><p>At that point, it’s easier to justify staying in bed all day. The kindly old woman who owns the bookstore calls him, says she hasn’t seen him in two weeks, and inquires if he’s doing alright. He tries to be nice, but Nagito’s stomach curdles when he realizes that she’s just upset to lose money and not because she really cares. And maybe that’s false, but it’s too much effort to dwell on the thought. </p><p>His appointment with Matsuda comes and goes, and Nagito retains practically none of the information. The scans are promising, Matsuda says, so that might alter the prognosis. For the better. </p><p>Nagito doesn’t want for the better. </p><p>He sees the social worker- Miaya, her name is, and she’s a therapist actually- twice a week. Their first session is spent agonizing over his diagnosis. She gives Nagito homework, to make a list of all the things he dreams of doing, and he brings back an empty sheet of paper. </p><p>The second session goes better. To Miaya at least; Nagito is less than thrilled with what she’s assigned him this week. </p><p>“Ahh, hello, Junko? It’s me, Nagito.” </p><p>Miaya wants him to broaden his support system. And so, after scrolling through his pitifully short contact list, he’s settled on Junko Enoshima. </p><p>“Nagito! What’s up, boyfriend?” Junko gushes. “It’s been just so long since we talked, hasn’t it?” </p><p>They’re not friends; far from it, really. But their parents were, and so Nagito can recall all the years Junko spent antagonizing him as children. She sticks around now mostly for the beach access. </p><p>“Yes, it has.” Nagito replies, and then follows up immediately with, “I apologize for not calling sooner. I just, um, figured that you wouldn’t want to talk to me. I know how busy you are. And my therapist suggested that I call someone, so I was taking a look and-”</p><p>“Ooh your therapist? What are you, all messed up in the head?” She cackles. </p><p>“I have cancer.” </p><p>The line goes quiet then. It gives Nagito just the time he needs to take a gulp of air and push past the suffocating lump that’s crawling up his throat. </p><p>“I have cancer. And dementia. And I only have about a year to live.” </p><p>Nagito chews nervously on his lip as he waits for a response. He hadn’t meant to say it so bluntly, but it’s a difficult thing to get out and it’s not like Junko will care about the delivery anyway. </p><p>“Oh, well that’s a real bummer, isn’t it?” She drawls. </p><p>Miaya told him this would be hard. He hadn’t expected Junko to care, honestly. But he hadn’t expected that response, either, and suddenly it’s like he’s sinking down, down, down into himself. </p><p>“That’s not really how I would describe it. But if you think so then yes, I suppose it is.” </p><p>“That’s really sad, Nagito.” Junko volunteers again, and this time she’s more subdued. More genuine. She’s always had a tendency for switching emotions like that. </p><p>“Yeah.” There’s not much else to say in response. Or maybe there is, but Nagito can’t think of anything clever right now. He had a trajectory for this conversation, but it seems pointless now. </p><p>“Why did you call me?” She asks after a moment. Nagito’s never heard Junko use this voice before; this weird mix of compassion and genuine curiosity, with maybe just a slight analytic undertone. It makes him nervous. </p><p>“It’s stupid. I, um, I wanted to know if maybe you would want to come over? Tomorrow, or something?” </p><p>“Nagito,” she pouts. The last syllable of his name is drawn out for too long. “I’ve told you before, you can’t be so last minute with these things. I know this situation is a little different but I don’t just sit at home all day doing nothing. Mukuro and I are going to Europe tomorrow, and we won’t be back for at least a month.”</p><p>Really, he had known the answer before she said it. </p><p>“Are you lonely?” She inquires with a giggle, and it sounds predatory. Nagito doesn’t want to answer. “Because I know just the thing!” </p><p>The sound of nails tapping the screen replaces her hyena laugh. She’s still chuckling to herself, but it’s subdued now that the speaker is away from her mouth. Seconds later his phone pings, and the notification opens to a link that in turn opens to some kind of app.</p><p>“Go get yourself a boy toy! Fuck away your sorrows!” She must think it’s the funniest thing she’s ever said with the way she screeches. “You can’t die a virgin, Nagito!”</p><p>“Junko, what is this?” </p><p>The app is joltingly pink. It’s garish and ugly against the subdued hues of Nagito’s phone background; and it’s name, Candy Kisses, is entirely unhelpful about its contents.</p><p>“You really haven’t heard of it? Come on Nagito, you can’t even guess? Think about it. You’re loaded up the ass and you need someone to talk to! It’s a perfect combination really; get yourself a sugar baby. Anyone will be your friend if you pay them.” She sneers the last part, another emotional 180, and it stings more than Nagtio would have thought. More than it has in the past. </p><p>“Well, anyway, I have to go now. I really am sorry about the whole dying thing. Keep in touch, m’kay?” She audibly puckers her lips to blow a kiss through the phone before a click tells Nagito she’s hung up. </p><p>Nagito doesn’t know what to make of the conversation, quite honestly. He can’t decide if he’s angry at how she brushed him off, or sad, and so he settles on uncomfortably numb. The disgusting pink app is still up, and Nagito hates the way he momentarily considers downloading it. Maybe Junko’s right, something ugly inside him whispers. Maybe his only hope is to pay someone. </p><p>The last thing he wants to do is take advice from Junko Enoshima. Or not advice, per say, but direction. But even more than that he doesn’t want to spend his last months like this, painfully and utterly lonely. The thought fills him with something so overwhelming it makes him tremble, and he knows he should write it down for Miaya but he can’t. He would have to dwell on it, then. Instead he puts his phone to the side and curls into the pillows behind him. Warm sunlight spills in from the windows, coating the couch in a honey glow, and it’s almost enough to be comforting.</p><p>It doesn’t take long for Nagito to fall into a fitful slumber. He dreams of tropical islands, and fireworks, and girls with red fingernails. But this time his cottage isn’t empty, and the spot beside him at the pool is taken. There’s a hand in his when he sits on the beach.</p><p>Which makes it so much worse, really, when there’s a rope around his wrist, and slits across his thighs, and the cloying smell of copper all around. </p><p>-</p><p>$35,000. </p><p>Hajime doesn’t believe in ghosts, but that number sure haunts him like one. </p><p>“It’s going to take me forever to pay it back.” Hajime groans. He slumps farther into the booth, clutching his latte dejectedly. </p><p>“Shouldn’t have picked a useless major.” Fuyuhiko replies. “Or, I don’t know, tried a little harder for some scholarships?” </p><p>Hajime conjures up his best glare. It isn’t much, though, considering he knows the boy across from him is joking. </p><p>“Well you have to figure something out! It’s three bedrooms for a reason!” Kazuichi jabs the paper on their table for emphasis. </p><p>The apartment, with its trendy design and proximity to nightlife, is still fresh in their minds. Hajime never thought it would’ve gotten this far; but he has to admit there’s something alluring about not having to move back in with his parents after graduation. </p><p>Kazuichi was the first to bring it up. No job opportunities in his town, he claimed, and he couldn’t afford rent on his own. Fuyuhiko was next. He already had a job lined up, and if that fell through his parents would cover his portion. </p><p>That left Hajime, the only one without a full ride, job, or rich family to help out. In other words, the only one holding up their plans. </p><p>“Well what do you suggest?” Hajime’s voice is bland. “I don’t have a job yet, which means no money for rent or student loans.” </p><p>Kazuichi is silent for all of three seconds before perking up. “You have six months from graduation until the loans start! That’s plenty of time to find something.”</p><p>“I’ll spot you the first month's rent if you need me to.” Kurzuyu adds. It’s a kind gesture, and definitely doesn’t inconvenience the boy, but Hajime doesn’t want someone covering his living costs. </p><p>“No, you know I can’t let you do that, Fuyuhiko. And Kazuichi,” Hajime turns to the pink haired boy, “my payment’s going to be, like, $400 a month. And rent is what?” He pauses to look at the paper and do the math in his head. “About $700 each. Not including food, or wifi, or car payments. That’s a lot of money.” </p><p>The words leave a bitter taste in his mouth. He wants so badly to live with the other two, but he can already see what a financial nightmare it will be. At least he can visit often. </p><p>“You’ll have to get one without me, I guess.” Hajime chews on his bottom lip and shifts his eyes to the window. Silence hangs heavy in the air. </p><p>Hajime can see Kazuichi from the corner of his eye. His fingers are dancing on the table in the tell-tale sign that he’s wracking his brain to find a solution. His friend is a brilliant mechanic and an even better future engineer. He’s watched Kazuichi solve calculus problems without batting an eye, but Hajime doubts he’ll find a solution to this issue. </p><p>Fuyuhiko is scrolling through something on his phone. The set of his eyebrows tells Hajime that he’s upset but trying not to show it. He’s already steeling himself for the hard ‘no’ he’ll have to give when the blonde, inevitably, offers again to pay Hajime’s rent. It’s no secret that the Kurzuryu family is loaded; they could pay off Hajime’s debt in a second. But he’s never been one to take handouts, and he doesn’t want to start now. </p><p>He’s taking a long drag from his cup, still lost in thought, when Kazuichi’s voice breaks the tension. </p><p>“Dude, just get a sugar daddy! Pay off those loans real quick and get some rent while you’re at it.” </p><p>Hajime chokes as the last drops of coffee slide uncomfortably down his throat. Kazuichi’s tone is far too normal for what he just said and it makes Hajime uneasy. Something tells him his friend isn’t joking. </p><p>“Kazuichi, what?” Hajime cocks an eyebrow and stares right at the pink haired boy to confirm that, no, he had not been joking. </p><p>Kazuichi shrugs. “Can’t be that hard right? Just make a profile on one of those apps or something, flirt a little, and boom! Besides, it’s illegal to do, you know, for money. So all they can expect from you is dinner or a date, if that. I hear some of them just give money away for nothing in return.” He elbows Fuyuhiko, who to his credit grumbles in a way that tells Hajime he won’t be getting involved. </p><p>“I’m not doing that.” </p><p>“But why not? You’re good at acting! It’ll be easy!” </p><p>“Why not? Because it’s a crazy idea! Not to mention isn’t it kind of, I don’t know, sketchy to get money from a stranger?” </p><p>“Are you just mad because you think it’s only for girls?” Kazuichi smiles, his pointed teeth making him look like every part the devil he’s acting like right now. </p><p>“It actually can be legit. I’ve seen it before.” Fuyuhiko adds with a smirk. </p><p>Hajime feels his face heat up. He doesn’t have to see himself to know his cheeks are bright red. </p><p>“See! If Fuyuhiko says it’s legit then it’s fine!”</p><p>“No! I’m not doing that!” Hajime practically screeches, tone incredulous. </p><p>“Hajime,” Kazuichi pouts, “now it seems like you just don’t want to live with us.” </p><p>And that’s how Hajime finds himself back at his dorm, squeezed in between his two best friends, downloading an app on his phone.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello everyone! Thank you so much for all the comments, kudos, and bookmarks for the first chapter. :) I'm so incredibly happy that you're enjoying it. This chapter took a little longer to come out than I was hoping, but I wanted to make sure it was perfect. I'm already working on the third chapter, though, so I'm hoping to have that one up quicker. This chapter turns a little chat fic-ish at some points, so that was a fun step out of my comfort zone! Usually I’m more of a description person and dialogue is difficult. But for some reason it’s been relatively easy to write the interactions between characters here, so I’m not complaining. :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“The wifi in this place sucks.” Kazuichi groans. He rolls his eyes and falls back onto the mattress overdramatically. </p>
<p>“Maybe it won’t take so long if you stop staring at it and do something else.” Hajime offers. He’s thinking pointedly of the homework he knows Kazuichi has to do. Maybe if his friend gets absorbed in his work, Hajime will be saved from making this stupid profile. </p>
<p>The monochrome gray wheel shudders closer to completion. There’s only a sliver left before the app will be fully downloaded, and Hajime finds himself wishing the internet would just crash. </p>
<p>Visions of gross old men have been circulating through his mind ever since Kazuichi brought the idea up at the coffee shop. There’s so many logistics, like will he have to pay taxes? What will he have to do in return? And the biggest one: how will he explain to his parents that he’s making money without having a job? He could lie, but they’d certainly find out at some point. </p>
<p>“It’s finished.” Fuyuhiko’s voice is steady but Hajime can hear the slight excitement. </p>
<p>“Finally!” Kazuichi exclaims, “now open it, Hajime!” </p>
<p>Hajime makes no move to tap on the icon, and promptly finds the phone snatched from his grasp. </p>
<p>“Kazuichi, what the fuck-” He’s cut off by the arm that wraps around his shoulders and the way Kazuichi leans closer to show him the screen. </p>
<p>“Okay, so what do you want your sugar baby name to be? ‘Pick something that will let our daddies know you’re young, attractive, and ready to be pampered!’” Hajime grimaces at the wording. He’s beginning to dread this more and more. </p>
<p>“I can’t believe you just read that out loud.” Fuyuhiko complains. </p>
<p>“That’s what it says!” </p>
<p>“Well I didn’t want to hear it! Show it to Hajime and keep it to yourselves.” Fuyuhiko shoots them a mildly disgruntled look over his phone. </p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Kazuichi rolls his eyes. “So what will it be, Hajime?” </p>
<p>“Don’t I just use my real name? Like a normal dating app.” That annoying blush is rising up Hajime’s cheeks again. He hadn’t put much thought into this part. </p>
<p>“No, idiot. It’s like a screen name,” Fuyuhiko says. “You need something that will catch people’s eye, but also keep your identity a secret. At least until you get comfortable with someone.” </p>
<p>Hearing that only increases Hajime’s anxiety. He wants to ask Fuyuhiko what reason there could be to hide his identity, but he’s afraid he won’t like the answer. </p>
<p>Instead he swallows hard and nods his head. “Ahh, well. Okay then.” </p>
<p>Kazuichi raises his eyebrows, clearly expecting an answer. Hajime shrugs his shoulders defensively. </p>
<p>“Don’t give me that look. I don’t exactly have a name planned out.” </p>
<p>Fuyuhiko snickers in the background. “So you’re telling us you <em>haven’t</em> been saving a special name just for this moment?” </p>
<p>Hajime groans. </p>
<p>-</p>
<p>There’s a storm coming, so Nagito convinces the staff to leave early and curls up in his bedroom. The cliche rom-com on tv makes him sick, but it blocks out the distant thunder, so he leaves it on. </p>
<p>It’s not one of his better days. He snapped at Chiaki when she brought him tea this morning, and now he’s forgotten to cover the budding peonies in the garden. The wind will rip the new foliage off, stunting their growth, and it’ll be all his fault. He’s worthless, lets everything die or ruins all the good in his life and-</p>
<p>He should call Matsuda. That’s what he said, after all; to call if his symptoms became worse. But Nagito doesn’t feel like it, and it’s too hard to tell if it’s because he doesn’t have the motivation, or because he doesn’t believe he deserves to. </p>
<p>Everything’s numb. His body, his mind; it all feels fuzzy and too far away. Rain, propelled by the wind coming off the ocean, pelts the side of the house. It’s normally so loud, but today it’s subdued. Cushioned. </p>
<p>The couple on screen start kissing. Lightning streaks through the sky, and thunder follows, and Nagito feels like a ghost. </p>
<p>He really should call Matsuda. </p>
<p>But his phone isn’t in its normal spot on the bedside table. Everything had been moved, he remembers now, to seat his mother’s old porcelain tea set. The one she loved so immensely. The one he’s terrified to use for fear of breaking it. </p>
<p>But he can’t think about that right now. If he dwells on it too long the thoughts will pull him farther down than he already is. Right now, his only priority is finding his phone. </p>
<p>A quick scan reveals it tucked snugly inside the basket on his coffee table. Nagito doesn’t remember being over there this morning, let alone setting anything down. It must’ve been Chiaki, he decides, since she’d been the one to situate the tea set. He’d been too busy wading through the fog in his mind to notice.</p>
<p>It takes effort, but Nagito extracts a leg from the blanket cocoon he’s made. The other leg follows, and then an arm to help keep his balance. He’s dizzy when he stands. So he digs his toes into the plush carpet to ground himself and starts a half-stumble to his destination. The blanket snags underneath his feet once, so he heaves more into his arms to keep from tripping. </p>
<p>One unceremonious collapse onto the couch later, and Nagito has the phone safely in his blanketed hands. He’s taking a deep breath, preparing for the inevitable stress of the call, when something catches his eye. A text. </p>
<p>The phone company sends a text when his bill is due, but he paid that last week. Matsuda and his medical team only call, so it can’t be them either. With the only possible explanations exhausted, Nagito’s face contorts into an expression of confusion. Could it be one of his employees? Maybe it was a mistake to let them leave early. What if something had happened? A tree branch knocked loose from the wind, or a downed electrical wire. There’s plenty of unused space in his house, he should’ve let them stay here instead, and- </p>
<p>Oh. Nagito is less than pleased when he sees who it is. Less than pleased, but not surprised. </p>
<p>Junko Enoshima. </p>
<p>And she’s sent two texts, not just one, which is enough to raise Nagito’s suspicions. She’s probably just making fun of him for last night’s conversation. It’s undoubtedly something she would do. </p>
<p>He doesn’t want to open it. Whatever she’s sent him will almost surely take his day from dismal to unbearable. But he knows she’ll keep at it if he doesn’t respond. She’s always been like that, progressively more nasty the longer she has to wait, and he <em>really </em>isn’t in the mindset to handle her aggression today. </p>
<p>So he slides the notification open with a resigned sigh and hopes that whatever she has to say isn’t as bad as he’s imagining. Her words from last night’s conversation still sting.</p>
<p>
  <em>Junko Enoshima: I realized that you definitely have no good pictures of yourself, so instead of letting you sit all sad and desolate, I decided to help you out! Use this for your profile. </em>
</p>
<p>Attached is a picture that Nagito didn’t even know existed. He’s the only one in frame, sitting under his gazebo at sunset with the peaceful ocean behind him. There’s a book resting on his lap, title blocked by the way his hands lock protectively over the cover. His eyes are much too wide and a weird, murky green that clashes with the jewel toned sky behind him. At least he’s smiling, though, albeit flighty and fragile. It’s easy to critique, but really? Not the worst picture ever. </p>
<p>Nagito saves it to his camera roll with a frown and taps out a response. </p>
<p>
  <em>Nagito Komaeda: Why do you even have a picture of me? </em>
</p>
<p>And then a second later:</p>
<p>
  <em>Nagito Komaeda: Thanks though.</em>
</p>
<p>It’s blunt, but Junko likes blunt. Doesn’t have time for the floofy bullshit, she says, although Nagito thinks she just has a thing for being unnecessarily mean. </p>
<p>The Candy Kisses link is just barely visible above Junko’s new texts. It’s nauseatingly bright pink draws Nagito’s eye like it’s the only thing on the screen, though. As much as he loathes to admit it, there is something alluring about it’s premise. He doesn’t have high hopes for it, and he probably should not be listening to any advice Junko gives him, but he’s heard that online dating can be fun. Although this isn’t dating, as Junko so clearly pointed out to him. </p>
<p>‘Anyone will be your friend if you pay them.’ It’s by far not the worst thing Junko’s ever said to him, and yet it sits differently than her past comments have. </p>
<p>“I hate Junko Enoshima.” Nagito spits out from between clenched teeth. He stabs the link and watches with rapt attention as it downloads. It’s tiny image is overloaded with a gold dollar sign inside a bright red heart and Nagito sneers at the poor design. </p>
<p>He’s going to make a profile. Out of pure spite or a repressed desire, he’s not sure. But if luck smiles on him, maybe he’ll find someone who actually wants to be around him. A friend. And if not, well, he won’t live long enough for it to matter anyway.  </p>
<p>In the end, he never calls Matsuda. </p>
<p>-</p>
<p>It’s eight at night when Nagito finishes. The violent rain has subsided to a gentle mist; much like Nagito’s own mind, which has neatly tucked away the spiraling despair of disease in favor of tiny, fragile joy. Still, he knows he shouldn’t get ahead of himself. The more he allows himself to build up a fantasy outcome, the more it’s going to sting when the inevitable happens. People are uninterested in him in real life; an app won’t change that. </p>
<p>All things aside, Nagito thinks his profile is relatively good. He’s spent hours pouring over websites that break down every aspect of a proper bio, and after pages upon pages of notes, he thinks he’s hit all the requirements. </p>
<p>Although, Nagito isn’t sure what’s meant to happen now. Should he be the one to start the conversations? Does he wait for someone to come to him? He hopes it’s the latter; he’s abysmal at talking to people he knows, let alone complete strangers. Nonetheless, his phone’s ringer is on- something normally reserved for days when he knows Matsuda will call- so as not to miss a notification. </p>
<p>‘Not that I’ll need it,” he thinks. ‘After all, who would want to talk to someone like me?’ </p>
<p>Miaya scolds him constantly for talking like that. She’s given him endless material- books and motivational videos, lists and research papers- designed to bolster self esteem. None of them seem to work, not for lack of trying, and he hates to disappoint her. It’s just not that easy. </p>
<p>He’s feeling desolate, slipping back into the warm embrace of self-hatred, when a soft ding echoes around his room. It takes Nagito a moment to recognize what it is, but when he does he can’t find his phone fast enough. It slips from the bed when he pulls the comforter back too quickly, and suddenly he’s falling with it, pulled overboard by his violent lunge forward. </p>
<p>Nagito lands upside down with the phone in his hand. He twists himself out of the awkward position and scrambles back onto the bed. The phone blinks to life when he looks at it, and there in the center is a small notification box. His heart is pounding much harder than it should be as the app's message center pops up on screen. </p>
<p>
  <em>Izuru Kamukura: Hey there hottie ;) </em>
</p>
<p>The ensuing noise makes Nagito glad he’s alone. A flurry of emotions tear through him as he stares wide eyed at the three simple words. </p>
<p>“Someone thinks I’m <em>hot</em>?” He questions aloud. “There’s no way.” </p>
<p>Nagito’s first thought is that it’s a bot. He recalls all the websites that prattled off warning signs and examples, detailed stories of computer viruses and hacked accounts left in their wake. He knows not to click on any links or divulge his private information, but this message is neither of the two. </p>
<p>“It can’t hurt, I guess.” He whispers, and anxiously types out a response. He sends it immediately, not even bothering to proofread, before his nerves get the better of him. </p>
<p>
  <em>Nagito Komaeda: Hello! It’s hard to believe you’d think that about someone like me, but I’m honored. </em>
</p>
<p>Three dots pop up almost instantly. Their presence makes Nagito even more anxious. </p>
<p>
  <em>Izuru Kamukura: Oh shit, I didn’t think you’d answer that fast. Um, give me a second to think of another line. Hold on. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Izuru Kamukura: And what do you mean “someone like me”? Don’t think so low of yourself, man. </em>
</p>
<p>Nagito blinks owlishly at the new messages. They’re in keeping with the conversation; not poorly spelled, and definitely not some sketchy invite to a cam show. Which means it’s a real person. </p>
<p>Someone he has to answer. </p>
<p>And then the realization that someone has <em>read </em>and<em> responded</em> to something Nagito has written crashes into him. His hands weave their way into a death grip on his hair. Sweat prickles up along the contours of his face. Truthfully he hadn’t thought it would get this far. It was too much to expect that, out of the thousands of other people on the app, someone would willingly pick <em>him</em>. </p>
<p>A cheerful <em>ding </em>signifies another message.  </p>
<p>
  <em>Izuru Kamukura: Okay I got one: looks like some clouds got stuck in your hair when you fell from Heaven. </em>
</p>
<p>Some garbled imitation of a gasp shoves its way out of Nagito’s throat. He feels frozen, thoughts spinning incessantly around his head, as he reads the sentence and realizes he <em>truly </em>has no idea what to say back. He’s in over his head. </p>
<p>
  <em>Izuru Kamukura: Are you so in awe of my stellar pick up line that you don’t know how to respond? </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Izuru Kamukra: Or was it really that bad? I know you saw it. My friend told me it was pretty bad, but I sent it anyway. </em>
</p>
<p>And that makes Nagito chuckle; even if he does feel bad for making Izuru question himself.</p>
<p>
  <em>Nagito Komaeda: I didn’t mean to make you doubt yourself. I’m not used to talking like this so it’s taking me a little while to think of something to say. You wouldn’t think my hair looks like clouds if you saw it in person though. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Izuru Kamukura: Ooh an invitation to meet already? You move fast, Nagito!</em>
</p>
<p>Nagito audibly chokes. His eyes blow wide as he takes in the message. Is Izuru making fun of him? Is he trying to flirt? Nagito’s never been good at reading hints, even less so now, and it feels like the universe is playing some cruel trick by making him decipher this. </p>
<p>
  <em>Izuru Kamukura: Hey man, was that too forward of me? It says you saw it again, and you’re not typing. I was just joking. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Nagito Komaeda: Oh no, please don’t concern yourself. I promise you my long reply times are just because I’m so dreadfully incompetant that I don’t know what to say back. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Izuru Kamukura: Are you okay? I mean really, I don’t think you’ve said a single nice thing about yourself yet and that’s kind of weird. </em>
</p>
<p>Nagito types out “I’m sorry” before stopping. He doesn’t know what to say. There isn’t <em>anything</em> to say, really, that isn’t as deprecating as the rest of his messages. It’s just how he functions, and he should’ve known that Izuru, like everyone else, would find it weird. </p>
<p>
  <em>Nagito Komaeda: I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. </em>
</p>
<p>He stares, unblinking, at the screen. Izuru’s responses have been almost instantaneous, but there’s no typing animation this time. And the little check mark beside the text bubble lets Nagito know that he’s seen it. It’s pathetic how crestfallen he suddenly feels. </p>
<p>A full minute passes without a response. Then two minutes, and it’s almost to the three minute mark when Nagito finally shuts off his phone. If he doesn’t, he’ll stare at the screen all night and wonder what’s so wrong with him, what makes him destroy every opportunity he’s given. </p>
<p>Maybe there’s a way for him to salvage this. Talking about himself never does any good, and that’s all he’s been doing. He needs to focus on Izuru instead. </p>
<p>Rare determination overtakes him, and almost without realizing it Nagito is reopening the app and navigating to Izuru’s profile. </p>
<p>“Izuru Kamukura, twenty-two, college student.” He reads. The bio itself is rather bare-bones. Izuru attends Hope’s Peak University; he likes video games and spending weekends with friends, and he’d love to live in the city someday, just to see what it’s like. He’s on his college debate team, and enjoys murder mysteries when he has the time. Oh, and he’s looking for help paying off his college debt. But that’s listed at the very bottom, almost as an afterthought, and hidden like he’s embarrassed to talk about it. </p>
<p>Nagito doesn’t know the first thing about video games, he’s only been to a big city once when he was a child, and he doesn’t have any friends to spend the weekend with. He can’t relate to Izuru on any of those points. But he can work with murder mysteries. He loves reading, and although he hasn’t read anything of the sort lately there’s surely something in his library. Maybe he could ask Izuru to recommend one? </p>
<p>It’s a good enough question, Nagito thinks. The chances of Izuru answering at this point are slim anyway, so realistically he shouldn’t spend so much time worrying about it. Although. </p>
<p>Maybe he shouldn’t ask for recommendations. Then he’s just bringing the conversation right back to himself, and isn’t that what he’s been trying to avoid in the first place? </p>
<p>The whole thing is becoming too much for him to handle. Nagito’s hands are shaking and his breathing is speeding up, but if he says <em>nothing </em>to the only person who bothered to talk with him then he really is pitiful. </p>
<p>He needs to get his determination back. The one that forced him into downloading this dreadful app in the first place. </p>
<p>So Nagito takes a deep breath, the kind that Miaya taught him, and fires off a message before he’s even fully processed it. He won’t let himself stare blankly at the screen until Izuru answers; no matter how much he really wants to. Instead, he clicks the phone off, flips it screen-down onto his bedside table, and crawls under the covers. </p>
<p>Nagito screws his eyes shut and lays perfectly still. As if that will bring about sleep any faster, an unlikely occurrence with how fast his heart is beating. He knows it’s a fruitless attempt, and proves itself as such only five minutes later. </p>
<p>“I never even looked at his picture.”</p>
<p>And what a mistake, because Izuru looks just like Nagito imagines a prince in a fairytale would. The first image shows Izuru dressed impeccably in a black suit. He’s standing by a fountain, giving the camera the sort of lopsided smile they describe in romance novels. His eyes are gorgeous; not just for their unique color, but for whatever else is floating around them that Nagito can’t pinpoint. Intelligence, maybe, and something else that puts Nagito at ease. </p>
<p>The next image is more personal; candid, if not angled a little strangely. Tell-tale imagery of a small town diner makes up the background, and Izuru fills the image so wholly that it could’ve only been taken by someone sitting directly across from him. There’s an arm slung around Izuru’s shoulders, but the person themselves is cropped out. They’re still there, though, in the obvious way Izuru is looking at them. Probably responding to something the person said, judging by the tilt of his head and the upturned edges of his mouth. It’s truly a breathtaking image. He has the most genuine expression of joy Nagito’s ever seen.</p>
<p>But the picture takes Nagito’s mind to places it shouldn’t go. Places where it’s his arm wrapped about Izuru’s shoulders, and his joke Izuru is laughing at. They can go out to diners at two in the morning with Izuru’s college friends, eat cheap, greasy food until their stomachs hurt, and trade stories until Nagito feels like he’s found someplace to <em>belong</em>.</p>
<p>No. That’s not right. </p>
<p>“You weren’t made for a life like that. Stop pretending.” Nagito whispers, to no one. To no one in his massive, dreary mansion, and maybe to no one in the rest of the world either. He’s been alone his whole life. He’ll be alone until the very end. </p>
<p>The room seems colder suddenly, but that’s fine. It always has been. </p>
<p>-</p>
<p>“What did you <em>do</em>, Kazuichi?” </p>
<p>Hajime wakes to sixteen new messages; all from conversations he most definitely did <em>not </em>start. He’s never been a morning person, but the anger welling up inside him propels him out of bed and into the communal living room in minutes. </p>
<p>Kazuichi is sitting innocently at the breakfast table when Hinata bursts into the room. He’s spooning cereal into his mouth and watching some stupid prank video. The laugh that escapes him is cut short when Hajime knocks the phone out of his hand and shoves his own screen into Kazuichi’s face. </p>
<p>“What the hell is this, Souda?” Hajime demands. His voice is dangerously even. From the use of his surname, Kazuichi knows the other is utterly livid.  </p>
<p>“Your phone?” Kazuichi squeaks out, either too stupid or still too asleep to realize that making a joke is not a bright idea. </p>
<p>“Don’t be an idiot.” </p>
<p>“Aw come on, Hajime. We were just having some fun!” Kazuichi caves easily, like always. “We put all that effort into your profile and then you just fell asleep! So we decided it couldn’t hurt if we got things started. Right, Fuyuhiko?” </p>
<p>Kazuichi leans around Hajime to shoot his other roommate a desperate look. Fuyuhiko looks like he already regrets coming into the room. </p>
<p>“It was just you, dumbass. I told you I didn’t want any part of this, so leave me out of it.” </p>
<p>“Fuyuhiko!” Kazuichi whines, literally <em>whines</em>, in response. </p>
<p>“Well, regardless, thanks a lot. Now I have to clean up this, this-” Hajime waves his hand indignantly at the screen as he scrolls through the messages, “mess. These messages are disgusting, Kaz.” </p>
<p>“Okay, well. To be fair, I didn’t start all of them.” </p>
<p>And that’s true, Hajime begrudgingly admits. A decent amount of them are initiated by the other person. Half of them are positively sinful and the other half are written like business proposals. Staggering numbers jump out instantly; things like $500, $600, even $1,000, a week. And a quick glance at their pictures reveal men much more attractive than Hajime expected. </p>
<p>He braves a look at one of the conversations Kazuichi initiated. It goes just about how he expected, with some cheesy pick up lines followed by smarmy, professional attempts to get down to business as quickly as possible. Kazuichi makes him look like a bumbling idiot, but it seems like everyone is willing to overlook that in favor of his “astonishingly good looks; like a Michelangelo come to life in modern day,” as one man puts it. </p>
<p>“See? Not too bad, huh? I better get a cut of that money for all my hard work.” Kazuichi appears over his shoulder without warning. Hajime clutches the phone to his chest, suddenly embarrassed as though Kazuichi hasn’t already seen these conversations, let alone participate in them. </p>
<p>“Get away from me! Let me read your damages in peace.” </p>
<p>“Hey! I’m offended by that! They all loved my lines.” Kazuichi laments. He presses his jaw onto Hajime’s shoulder and pouts. </p>
<p>There’s no use shaking him off, so Hajime resigns himself to continue skimming the list. Tucked between a pick up line so cringe-worthy it rivals Kazuichi’s, and a strangely polite request for nude pictures, is a message so benign it catches Hajime’s eye immediately. </p>
<p>
  <em>Nagito Komaeda: What do you go to school for?</em>
</p>
<p>Kazuichi frowns as Hajime opens the message thread. </p>
<p>“Oh yeah, that guy was super weird. He kept insulting himself and saying things like ‘I’m not good at talking to people,’ and ‘I’m too stupid to hold a conversation’.” </p>
<p>“Yeah,” Fuyuhiko snorts. “I’m still surprised he answered you after that comment about his hair.” </p>
<p>Hajime shoots him a calculating look and opens his mouth to retort. </p>
<p>“And before you say what I <em>know </em>you’re about to, no, I wasn’t involved. Kazuichi just couldn’t keep his mouth shut so I heard all about this guy.” </p>
<p>He’s still not convinced, but it’s already ten and his first class starts in fifteen minutes, so there’s no time to argue. Hajime swats Kazuichi on the back of the head for good measure before peeling away to retrieve his backpack from their shared room. </p>
<p>“I’m changing my password so you can’t get into my phone anymore,” he chirps as he pulls on his shoes. “So <em>neither </em>of you can get into it anymore.” </p>
<p>Kazuichi groans loudly from the other room. </p>
<p>-</p>
<p>It’s midday when Hajime reluctantly checks Candy Kisses again. Three more people have shown interest in him, all from matches Kazuichi must’ve procured last night. They send him run-of-the-mill messages that he deletes without opening. </p>
<p>That’s probably the best method, he decides. Delete all the botched attempts Kazuichi made and start over with people he <em>actually </em>might get along with. Hajime knows the point isn’t to find love- and he’s not looking for that, anyway- but he feels somewhat like a fraud continuing off conversations someone else has started. </p>
<p>Except. There was that one man; Nagito, if Hajime’s remembering correctly. He was definitely strange, but his texts hadn’t given off the same sickly-sweet essence the others had. And he was the only one that had asked something. Like he was genuinely trying to start a conversation, but didn’t quite know how. </p>
<p>Maybe Hajime could give him a chance. </p>
<p>He navigates back to the message center, and from there to Nagito’s profile. It’s the picture that, unsurprisingly, catches Hajime’s eye first. Nagito’s staring at the camera like he’s been caught off guard. The smile on his face looks hasty and well practiced, not genuine, and his eyes are flat. Still, there’s something ethereal about him. Like if the sun was behind him at the right angle he would glow like an angel. </p>
<p>He looks like the kind of person people write songs about, Hajime thinks. </p>
<p>Nagito has only one picture to speak of, and below it, an apology. A lack of pictures of himself, and a severe doubt that anyone would be interested in seeing the various images of flowers and landscapes that <em>do </em>litter his camera roll. </p>
<p>The answers on Nagito’s profile are vastly different from anyone else's; almost naively so. Under the question “What are you looking for?” Nagito’s written: “Someone who won’t mind spending a quiet day reading. Or who won’t be dreadfully bored tending to plants for an afternoon.” It sticks with a consistent theme; nature, reading, and a noticeable lack of reasoning as to why he’s even on the site. In all honesty, Hajime thinks, it’s the wrong place for him to be. Nagito seems like he’s searching more for a partner than a plaything. </p>
<p>Kazuichi would be disappointed. Of all the people to take a liking to, Hajime’s chosen the one who clearly doesn’t belong. </p>
<p>“Too bad for him, huh?” He’s made up his mind.</p>
<p>
  <em>Izuru Kamukura: Hey, sorry I stopped answering last night. I fell asleep. But to answer your question, I’m studying counseling.</em>
</p>
<p>And even if he won’t admit it, the notification that pops up minutes later makes Hajime smile.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Kazuichi is the king of double texting. Once again I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, I'd love to hear what you think of the it! :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hajime finally gathers some courage, and Nagito gets the coffee date of his dreams!</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm sorry it took so long to get this chapter out! I started school again right after posting the second chapter, and with all the work it was hard to work on this story as much as I wanted to. My goal is to get a chapter out at least every 2 weeks, but it may be a little longer between updates now. That being said, I'm still in love with writing this story so I have no plans in slacking off on it! :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They’ve been talking for three weeks when Izuru makes a move. </p>
<p>Or rather, Hajime makes a move. It’s all progressed rather quickly- to Nagito, at least- with in-app messaging turning to texting, turning to calls that last well into the night. There’s barely been a lull in conversation since they started talking, yet Nagito’s still surprised every time Hajime’s name appears on his phone. </p>
<p>And yes, Izuru’s, real name is Hajime, he tells Nagito. His friends told him he needed an alias, but it feels odd when Nagito calls him Izuru on the phone. Like he’s lying to Nagito. And maybe he should be upset about it, but really Nagito’s just happy that Hajime trusts him enough to tell him the truth. </p>
<p>So, <em>Hajime </em>attends Hope’s Peak University. He’s a senior, set to graduate in late May, and he’s studying to be a therapist. He spends most of his time now at internships rather than in class. </p>
<p>He apologizes a couple times- for being <em>boring</em>, of all things- because he doesn’t have much else besides school to talk about. Nagito doesn’t tell Hajime that <em>boring</em> is living alone in your dead parents mansion with nothing to do but read books and watch the tide roll in and cross days off the calendar. But all he says is: “you could never be boring, Hajime, when you’re doing what you love,” and it makes Hajime happy to hear that. So, all things considered, Nagito is happy too. </p>
<p>They talk all the time. Hajime clears hours of his schedule just for Nagito, but he still wonders how much it all means. Hajime has friends, roommates that he spends every waking hour with, and Nagito is just some boy on the other end of a cell phone. </p>
<p>‘And don’t forget how you met him,’ Nagito’s mind whispers cruelly, when it’s late at night and he’s wrapped in the suffocating embrace of doubt. ‘Hajime’s looking for tuition, not a friend.’ </p>
<p>It haunts him, truly. The idea that Hajime is just pretending to like him is more painful than he wants to admit, and he knows the only way to overcome that fear is to ask Hajime himself. So he does one day; stutters out the question in a tiny, trembling voice that Hajime has to strain to hear. Waiting for the answer is absolutely excruciating and his heart pounds dangerously inside his frail chest. </p>
<p>“I mean… yeah, I would say we’re friends, Nagito.” </p>
<p>Hajime’s voice is equal parts amusement and confusion. And maybe a splash of worry too. Not that Nagito understands <em>why</em>, of course. </p>
<p>“Did you think that we weren’t?” He continues, and something rustles in the background like he’s settling down for a long conversation. </p>
<p>“I was just wondering, Hajime,” Nagito chirps back. He doesn’t need an explanation and he doesn’t want Hajime to ask him any questions, so he turns the conversation towards other things. He’s happy and Hajime is his friend. And everything is okay. </p>
<p>Until the fake name thing comes up again, accidentally; all because Nagito’s decaying mind gets confused. </p>
<p>“What do you think about that, Izuru?” He asks. It’s ten-thirty on a friday night and he’s talking to Izuru on speaker phone as the other gets ready for some party his roommates are dragging him to. Except, no. He’s not Izuru. He’s- </p>
<p>“Hajime. What do you think about that, Hajime?” Panic slips into his tone as Nagito corrects himself. Panic from what, exactly, he doesn’t know. Maybe the fear that Hajime will be mad at him for messing up. Or maybe the fear that he’s crumbling every day, that everything Matsuda showed him on complex scans and blood tests is becoming real. More real. </p>
<p>“Uh, hey, it’s okay. Nagito? What’s the matter?” Hajime sounds genuinely concerned. “You sound scared.” </p>
<p>All Nagito can choke out is a small apology. He’s disgusting, awful, a disgrace for forgetting the name of the one person who might <em>actually </em>care about him. He doesn’t deserve Hajime, who’s going to realize soon enough that Nagito is an utter disappointment, and then he’s really going to be all alone. All alone, all alone, all alone. </p>
<p>“What are you apologizing for, huh? You slipped up and said the wrong name, no big deal. Especially since it’s my fault for using a fake one in the first place,” Hajime responds, voice calm and soothing even as he trails off in embarrassment. It breaks through the thick fog clotting Nagito’s mind. “You especially don’t have to sound so… so scared of me. I’m not mad.” </p>
<p>“Oh,” Nagito swallows thickly. There’s so much to explain to Hajime, but he can’t form the words. “I get confused sometimes. I apologize if it’s annoying.” </p>
<p>“Did you not hear me? I said not to worry about it, which means you don’t have to apologize again,” Hajime snaps. There’s no real venom behind his words though, just an authoritative tone that’s enough to get Nagito’s attention. </p>
<p>“I’m so-”</p>
<p>“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Nagito.” </p>
<p>Hajime’s not upset this time either, but Nagito stays silent. He’s never excelled at social cues, and the direction this conversation is taking is far too erratic for his mind to piece together. He selfishly hopes that Hajime will say something for him. </p>
<p>Which he does, sooner than later, although it’s not quite the topic change Nagito was hoping for. </p>
<p>“You know, Nagito. I shouldn’t have used a fake name, but you shouldn’t have used your real one,” Hajime says quietly, and there’s something off about his tone. He’s trying to sound nonchalant, but his voice strains around the edges in a way Nagito could almost mistake for concern. It’s confusing. </p>
<p>“What do you mean, Hajime? Why would I use a fake name? I have nothing to hide,” Nagito asks innocently and with genuine curiosity. He can’t think of any reason to conceal his identity; he’s of no interest to anyone. </p>
<p>Hajime doesn’t respond at first and it’s cruel, Nagito thinks, to make him answer his own question like that. He’s about to say as much when Hajime finally speaks up. </p>
<p>“My friend Kazuichi looked you up,” Hajime admits, sheepishly. “And most of the stuff that comes up is tied to your net worth. You need to be careful, Nagito. There’s no telling what some people would do to you for money.” </p>
<p>Which Nagito laughs off, because he does know and Hajime doesn’t, but that’s as far as <em>that </em>conversation goes<em>. </em></p>
<p>“Are you implying you’re worried about me, Hajime?” Nagito asks. He doesn’t give Hajime enough time to answer, though, because he’s sure he knows what the response will be and he doesn’t want to ruin his mood. “It would be kind of you, but I’m not important enough for anyone to come after.” </p>
<p>Hajime makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like disagreement, and something warm floods Nagito’s body. </p>
<p>“Don’t say things like that about yourself.” And then, “were you able to finish your book last night? Or did you fall asleep?” </p>
<p>The call ends seven minutes later, after Nagito fawns over the latest chapter of his new book, and Hajime doesn’t interrupt him once; even when his roommate- Kazuichi, maybe?- bangs on the door and demands he hang up. Hajime promises to text him, and sure enough a notification pops up minutes later with a quip about how <em>annoying</em> his roommates are, and why won’t they leave him alone for five minutes? It makes Nagito smile. </p>
<p>He doesn’t expect Hajime to text him again. He’s out at a party after all, and it’s rather presumptuous to think he would rather talk to Nagito than the people he’s with. But that’s alright, because he’s four chapters away from the big climax in his book and he’d really like to finish it before the sequel he bought arrives at the bookstore. Nighttime reading is his favorite, but it makes him tired and he hopes he doesn’t drift off too soon. </p>
<p>An hour passes. The story is progressing rapidly, far too interesting now for him to be tired. So interesting, in fact, that he almost misses the muffled chime that sounds from somewhere underneath his blankets. </p>
<p>Nagito switches the book to one hand, diligently keeping his eyes on the words as his other hand searches for his phone. Hajime’s name lights up the screen when he finally retrieves it. He’s expecting an update on the party, or another well-intentioned complaint about his roommates, or maybe even a drunk selfie- does Hajime even drink? - but it’s neither of the three. </p>
<p>
  <em>Hajime Hinata: Would you maybe want to meet up sometime this week? </em>
</p>
<p>He squeals. The same embarrassing, high pitched sound he made the first time Hajime messaged him, and once again he’s happy no one is around to hear him. His hands shake as he gingerly types out his response. </p>
<p>
  <em>Nagito Komaeda: I’d love to, Hajime!</em>
</p>
<p>The book lays forgotten beside him, and as much as he was motivated to finish it before, Nagito knows he stands no chance of concentrating now. A kind of excitement that he hasn’t felt in years flows through him. Hajime wants to meet up? Wants to see <em>him </em>in person? It’s like something from a dream.  </p>
<p>
  <em>Hajime Hinata: Great :) Think of a place you want to go then.</em>
</p>
<p>Hajime’s answer is almost instantaneous, and the smile that fills Nagito’s face is so wide it almost hurts. He clutches the phone to his chest and falls back onto the pillows in a way far too reminiscent of a teenage girl. </p>
<p>They chat back and forth for a while longer, agreeing on a location, date, and time. Despite living in the same town his entire life, Nagito isn’t one for exploring and so settles on the one coffee shop he visits occasionally. He worries that it’s too cliche- too much like a date- but Hajime makes a joke about coffee being a college student’s only savior and it makes Nagito feel better. </p>
<p>His excitement can only stave off sleep for so long, though, and soon enough Nagito feels himself drifting off as he waits for Hajime’s response. It takes tremendous effort to drag open his eyes when the tell-tale <em>ding</em> of a text filters into his sleep clouded mind. He’s sure Hajime isn’t tired, it’s hardly past midnight, and he feels a little foolish to cut their conversation short. But Hajime understands, like he always does, and Nagito curls deeper into his blankets with a smile on his face after Hajime wishes him a good night and sweet dreams. </p>
<p>When he falls asleep, Nagito dreams of long sandy beaches and crystalline water; of someone with brown hair that takes his hand and calls him friend. </p>
<p>-</p>
<p>They’ve been talking for three weeks, and Nagito has yet to make a move. </p>
<p>Which is fine and all, honestly. Hajime’s learned enough about Nagito to know he’s not the kind of person to initiate things. But graduation is slowly approaching- only four months away at this point- and if Hajime wants any kind of chance at signing a lease with Fuyuhiko and Kazuichi, he needs to start saving money. </p>
<p>And that’s the thing, too. Nagito hasn’t once mentioned money; not an allowance, or gifts, or <em>anything,</em> really, like all the other men have. Instead, he asks Hajime about himself. He’s always interested in how Hajime’s classes are going, how his nights out with friends are, what he does when he has rare moments to himself. Even the driest answers entertain him, and it’s hard not to find Nagito’s enthusiasm somewhat endearing. </p>
<p>Getting information <em>out</em> of Nagito, on the other hand, is proving to be quite a challenge. He shuts down the second Hajime asks something too personal, skirts around anything that might make him talk about himself for more than a few seconds. He’s content to discuss his hobbies- books he reads, pretty things he comes across by his house, pictures he’d like to draw when he gets the motivation- but even then, he stops himself from talking too much. It’s like he’s afraid Hajime will get bored of him, and although he doesn’t know why, it makes Hajime feel a little bit sad. </p>
<p>But they make small strides every day. Hajime tries to be mindful, dominates the conversation less and asks more questions. It seems to be working, all things considered. </p>
<p>“<em>Hajime</em> get off the phone! We’re wasting valuable time! Miss Sonia is already at the party!” Nagito’s voice is soft compared to Kazuichi’s, and Hajime can hear the way he slumps dramatically to the floor outside his dorm room. “You<em> know</em> Gundham’s going to be there.”</p>
<p>He hopes Nagito can’t hear him. He’s just started into a long spiel about the horror novel he’s picked up and it’s one of the first times he’s been so enthralled in his own storytelling that he hasn’t stopped halfway through. It’s nice, and Hajime doesn’t want Kazuichi to ruin it. </p>
<p>Except he’s not so lucky, and Nagito <em>has </em>heard him, because he stutters and then asks Hajime if he needs to go. </p>
<p>“No, I’m in no rush at all, Nagito. Keep going.” He says, making sure it’s loud enough that Kazuichi can hear too. The distinct groan that comes from the other side of the door makes him laugh silently. </p>
<p>It takes a little more encouragement, but soon enough Nagito is back in his rapid-fire explanation of the main character and her shifty landlord. He’s different today, somehow; more energetic and less cautious. It’s a welcome change.</p>
<p>“Just go without him, idiot.” </p>
<p>Apparently Kazuichi hasn’t left his post outside the door, and it sounds like he’s tried to drag Fuyuhiko into it. </p>
<p>“But we promised we would all go together!” </p>
<p>“You sound like a goddamn <em>child</em>!” </p>
<p>Nagito stops again to ask him if everything is alright. He’s finished his spirited explanation by now, so Hajime begrudgingly admits that maybe he should hang up and deal with whatever’s going on outside. He promises to text Nagito- who cheerily reminds him that he shouldn’t feel obligated to think of him while he’s at the party- and ends the call with a sincere wish that Nagito have a good time finishing his book. </p>
<p>He’s greeted with Kazuichi laying melodramatically across the floor as he steps into the hallway. Fuyuhiko stands nearby, arms crossed over his chest and looking for all the world like a disgruntled parent. </p>
<p>“It’s about time you got out of there! You’re drastically cutting into my time, Hajime.” </p>
<p>He doesn’t deign to answer the question, choosing to step over his sprawled roommate in favor of gathering his shoes beside the door. </p>
<p>“Well, I’m ready to go now. So, get up or it’ll be your fault we took so long.” Behind him, he can hear Kazuichi scrambling to his feet.</p>
<p>As promised, he texts Nagito on his way out the door. </p>
<p>-</p>
<p>He loses sight of Kazuichi almost instantly when they arrive- which is both ironic and annoying considering how much of a fuss his roommate had put up. Fuyuhiko slips away to find his girlfriend, Peko, but promises to return right after with drinks. Hajime could mingle- he knows practically everyone at the party- but it feels like too much effort at the moment. Honestly, he hadn’t wanted to come in the first place. But Kazuichi insisted that <em>today </em>was the day he finally won over Sonia’s heart, and did Hajime really want to miss out on that? </p>
<p>He’d chosen not to give an answer to that question. </p>
<p>If anything, it’s a good chance to get away from the stress of his classes and the constant, looming reality of his life after graduation. It’s on his mind constantly, almost unhealthily, maybe. </p>
<p>“They didn’t have the kind you like, so I grabbed you this.” Fuyuhiko pushes a chilly glass bottle full of artificially blue liquid into his hand. It looks disgusting, honestly, and Hajime lets him know as much. </p>
<p>“Well sorry, princess, but since you took so long to get off the phone someone must’ve drank all the good stuff already.” </p>
<p>“Or it wasn’t here at all,” Peko counters. “I think Kaito was in charge of the drinks this time.” </p>
<p>Hajime likes her, Fuyhiko’s girlfriend. She’s reserved, doesn’t talk much unless she’s talked to first, and fiercely loyal to Fuyuhiko. They make the perfect couple, and Hajime can see them getting married soon. </p>
<p>He lets them fall into their own conversation, far more interested in how awful the sugary concoction in front of him will taste. He’s not one for drinking, but the appeal of losing his inhibitions for the night is always a little tempting. It appears the same can be said for the majority of the party goers. He can already spot Gundham downing shots across the room, no doubt gearing up the courage to flirt with Sonia again. It’s no secret that the two have a thing for each other, much to Kazuichi’s chagrin. </p>
<p>More people filter in the door. Fuyuhiko waves over some of their classmates, and soon enough they’re sitting closely in a tight circle. Hajime finishes his first drink, then the second one pushed into his hand by Leon from the class below him, and after that the shot poured out in honor of Shuichi’s first internship. He’s pulling the cap off his fourth when someone nudges into his space. </p>
<p>“Hajime, it’s going to be so sad when we can’t do this anymore,” Kazuichi slurs, and claps him firmly on the shoulder. Or as firmly as he can, anyway. It’s clear that he’s had more than his share to drink.</p>
<p>“I’m not sure I’m going to miss this part of our friendship,” Hajime replies sourly. He knows how these nights end; Sonia inevitably rejects Kazuichi <em>again</em> and he drowns his sorrows in the bottles of cheap alcohol they’ve pooled together. </p>
<p>“What do you mean? That makes me so sad, you know. I want us to live together, and party everyday, and invite so many cute girls over, it's ridiculous.” </p>
<p>“This is not something we’re talking about when you’re drunk, Kaz,” Hajime replies. Although maybe that’s hypocritical of him, because he can feel the room spin slightly when he turns, and everything feels a little slower than normal. </p>
<p>“When are you going to just grow a pair and ask that weirdo for money? Huh, Hajime? That was the whole point of the stupid app in the first place.” </p>
<p>“He’s not weird. Don’t say that. He’s nice,” Hajime manages to piece together. It’s not very convincing, but it’s not like Kazuichi is any wiser. </p>
<p>“C’mon soul friend, text him! Get paid!” Kazuichi draws out the last syllable far longer than necessary and makes a lewd gesture with his hips. It’s the kind of thing Hajime would find unnecessary under normal circumstances, but now he finds it immensely funny. </p>
<p>“It’s not <em>like </em>that, Kazuichi,” He giggles in a very un-Hajime-like way. “I’m not going to <em>fuck </em>him for money.” </p>
<p>“Yeah, maybe he’ll be the one doing the fucking!” Fuyuhiko crows, and the group bursts into loud laughter. </p>
<p>It doesn’t appease Kazuichi, though, who seems rather put out by the topic change. He throws himself across Hajime’s lap and grabs his tie, forcing him to look down. </p>
<p>“You still haven’t texted him!” He garbles. “You <em>have </em>to text him, or he’ll never give you money, and then you’ll never be able to live with us!” </p>
<p>“Get off of me! If you won’t <em>shut up </em>about it then I will.” </p>
<p>Emboldened, Hajime swipes his phone off the table and waves it in the air. He makes a show of opening to Nagito’s contact and swiftly typing out a message. </p>
<p>
  <em>Hajime Hinata: Would you maybe want to meet up sometime this week? </em>
</p>
<p>They crowd around him in anticipation as three dots pop up almost immediately. </p>
<p>“He’s typing, everyone!” Kazuichi announces.  </p>
<p>“Wow, doesn’t he have anything better to do than wait by the phone?” Someone quips, and even tipsy it sends something fiery down Hajime’s spine. He looks up angrily to spot the offender and sees Hiyoko laughing childishly behind Fuyuhiko. </p>
<p>“Hiyoko, that’s not nice!” Her girlfriend, Mahiru, scolds her. </p>
<p>
  <em>Nagito Komaeda: I’d love to, Hajime!</em>
</p>
<p>Kazuichi gasps. They all do, really, but none of them are as intensely invested as he is. </p>
<p>The words spin in Hajime’s mind, not quite making sense. He <em>knows </em>what they mean, but there’s a gap in his ability to respond appropriately. </p>
<p>“You’re taking too long!” Kazuichi grabs the phone from his limp hand- and, <em>oh</em>, he may have had way more to drink than he thought- to hastily type out a message. </p>
<p>
  <em>Hajime Hinata: Great :) Think of a place you want to go then.</em>
</p>
<p>“It’s been done,” Kazuichi announces grandly before none too gently handing the phone back to Hajime. It nearly slips from his grasp and he miraculously catches it before it falls. Sober, he’d be anxious to see what kind of message Kazuichi thought appropriate to send. But inebriated, Hajime trusts him fully. His only concern is what Nagito will send back, and how soon. </p>
<p>Fuyuhiko thrusts a shot glass with something clear sloshing down the sides into his hand. He stares intently into it, somehow not comprehending the overbearing smell. </p>
<p>“To Hajime! Have fun being a sugar baby!” Fuyuhiko shoots him a cheeky wink and downs the contents of his shot glass. Ironically, Hajime barely notices, too busy scanning the message Nagito’s just sent and proofreading an answer that he hopes won’t make him sound drunk. </p>
<p>As normal, Nagito doesn’t let up in his responses. They go back and forth, Nagito debating where he’d like to go- and more importantly, if <em>Hajime </em>would like to go there too- and finally settling on a coffee shop somewhere near his house. </p>
<p>He can sense when Nagito starts to drift off. His responses are further apart, yet still much faster than Hajime would expect from someone half-asleep. It’s endearing to think that Nagito values their conversations oversleep. </p>
<p>Eventually, though, it becomes too much for him and he bids Hajime a good night. He wishes Nagito the same, pauses, then adds ‘sweet dreams’ in a moment of drunken boldness. </p>
<p>When Hajime gets back to his dorm that night- when the alcohol wears off just enough to sharpen his memory- he realizes.</p>
<p>He’s really going to meet Nagito Komaeda. </p>
<p>-</p>
<p>The coffee shop Nagito’s picked is the kind of quaint, home-town favorite Hajime’s only seen in movies. </p>
<p>It’s a place ripped straight from a romance novel, with mismatched, well-loved furniture that manages to look cozy instead of dirty. The kind of place that names drinks after loyal customers. Fresh pastries are lined up neatly inside the display case. Some are covered in brightly colored frosting, tiny cakes and whimsical cookies with joyful faces piped onto their surfaces. Spindly house plants hang from the ceiling and drape over tables, all reaching towards the sunlight spilling in from windows at the store’s front. </p>
<p>The shop is relatively empty at this hour. Any lunch time rush is clearly over, and the two baristas behind the counter chat amicably with each other. They’re girls about Hajime’s age, and he briefly wonders if they attend Hope’s Peak too. He’s never seen them before. </p>
<p>It’s a whole ten minutes before their agreed meeting time, and Hajime doesn’t expect Nagito to be here yet, but the boy <em>does</em> seem like the kind to arrive unreasonably early. There are only three other customers here, though, and none of them sport Nagito’s unruly, bleached hairstyle. So, Hajime pulls out his phone and scans the room for a secluded place to sit. </p>
<p>
  <em>Hajime Hinata: Hey, I’m here. Still on your way? </em>
</p>
<p>He’s nervous. Why, he’s not sure- they’ve talked more than enough to get the jitters out- but there’s something inherently nerve wracking about meeting someone for the first time. His phone buzzes seconds later and the sensation makes him jump. </p>
<p>
  <em>Nagito Komaeda: Of course, Hajime! I had to make a stop, but I’ll be there shortly.</em>
</p>
<p>Hajime hopes shortly means ‘within the next five minutes.’ He can already feel the baristas watching him. Not normally one to be self-conscious, it does make him a little embarrassed when he realizes they probably think he’s here for a date. Either that or they’re waiting for him to buy something. Which doesn’t seem like a half-bad idea, actually; the coffee might help his nerves.</p>
<p>Except, what’s the protocol here? Should he wait until Nagito gets here, feign politeness and say that he thought it would be rude to order without him? After all, Nagito’s the one with the money, so shouldn’t he be paying? Although that feels rude somehow. </p>
<p>‘Probably because it is,’ Hajime’s mind supplies. He hadn’t been on a lot of dates in his life, admittedly; something he was regretting right about now. No doubt they would’ve taught him the etiquette he needed. </p>
<p>It’s starting to annoy him, honestly. There’s no need to make something as benign as buying coffee so difficult and besides that, he doesn’t want his first impression to be ‘broke boy who mooches off someone he just met.’ </p>
<p>Mind made up, Hajime turns his attention to the menu boards mounted on the wall behind the pastry case. They’re too far away to read, so he deposits his jacket on the back of his chair and makes his way to the front.</p>
<p>Every drink comes with a decadent, over-the-top name that Hajime instantly hates. Even a simple black coffee is nicknamed Dark Side of the Moon. He’s not the kind to gravitate towards overly fancy drinks, but he’s not satisfied with something plain either. Which doesn’t leave many options, as it seems the majority of the beverages are made from pure sweetener or ingredients he’s never heard of. He finds a relatively normal latte listed near the bottom and, not seeing any better options, settles for that. </p>
<p>Of course, it comes with perhaps the most cringe worthy name on the entire list: Ooh-La-Latte. He feels immensely silly saying it out loud, especially to the girl who takes his order. She’s decently pretty, with dark blue eyes and hair to match; the kind of girl Hajime hates making a fool of himself in front of. </p>
<p>“I haven’t seen you before,” she says as she taps some buttons on the register. “Are you meeting someone?” </p>
<p>“Yeah, a new friend. He says he comes here all the time.” </p>
<p>The girl- Sayaka, her name badge says. And it’s a pretty name, Hajime thinks- hums in polite interest and slides his cup across the counter. </p>
<p>“We have a lot of people who come here often. It’s a pretty popular spot for the locals.” She smiles as she hands him the receipt. </p>
<p>“That’s what he told me too,” Hajime replies. He hovers for a second, tucking the receipt into his back pocket. “Thanks.” </p>
<p>“No problem!” Sayaka gives a tiny wave and retreats to the counter to check her phone. Hajime can hear her giggling quietly as he collects his coffee and returns to his chair. </p>
<p>Despite its name, the latte is one of the better he’s had. It’s just the right temperature and perfectly rich; leagues above the coffee Fuyuhiko brews religiously. </p>
<p>He cranes his head subtly towards the windows, searching for any sign of Nagito, but the sidewalk is empty. It’d be weird to keep his eyes glued to the door, he thinks, so he settles for checking social media as he waits. </p>
<p>There’s not much to look at. Ibuki’s newest photo is inundated with likes and comments from desperate fans, some of them Hajime knows as people from their class trying to win her attention. Kaede’s post honoring her and Shuichi’s anniversary is new, also. They’re close, so Hajime taps out a comment congratulating them on two years. Distantly, a bell chimes, signalling someone has entered the shop, but Hajime doesn’t pay any mind. Footsteps turn in his direction. </p>
<p>“Hajime?” </p>
<p>He looks up from his phone and there, undoubtedly, is Nagito Komaeda. </p>
<p>He’s got the biggest eyes Hajime’s ever seen. Hypnotically deep and framed by long, pale lashes, they remind him of a doll’s. He has the porcelain skin of one too, and a slight frame that somehow isn’t completely dwarfed by the green jacket he’s wearing.  The smile on his face is shy; nothing like the plastic one in his profile image. It suits his face infinitely better.</p>
<p>“Nagito?” </p>
<p>“That’s me.” He takes a step too close and looks at the chair across from Hajime as though he’s unsure he’s allowed to sit. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting. I had to take a small break on my way here so it took longer than I expected.” </p>
<p>“Oh, no, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it,” Hajime answers haltingly. He probably sounds like an idiot, but his mind is too busy trying to piece together what Nagito would need to take a break for, exactly. “How did you get here?” </p>
<p>“I walked.” </p>
<p>Nagito says it plain and simple, like it’s the most obvious fact in the world. Like Hajime should’ve known. </p>
<p>“I didn’t realize you lived so close.” </p>
<p>“Mhm. You don’t know a lot of things about me, Hajime.” </p>
<p>Which is true. Hajime can’t argue with that. Then again, he finds it strange that someone as loaded as Nagito wouldn’t own a car, but he’s not about to pry. </p>
<p>“You bought that already?” Nagito sounds uncharacteristically panicked for someone sitting in a coffee shop on a Tuesday afternoon, and Hajime follows his gaze to the cup perched unassumingly on the table between them. </p>
<p>“Uh, yeah. I figured I would get something while I was waiting for you to get here.” </p>
<p>“But- but the coffee here is so expensive!” Nagito whines, and he looks so genuinely distressed that Hajime worries he’s already blown it. </p>
<p>“Hey, hey, it’s alright. It wasn’t that bad. Just,” He makes a show of scanning the receipt. As though he doesn’t already know exactly what it cost. “Seven dollars.” </p>
<p>Which, consequently, is the wrong thing to say because Nagito squeaks and looks infinitely more upset. </p>
<p>“But you’re a student, Hajime. You don’t have that kind of money.” </p>
<p>“Excuse me?” Hajime blurts out. He wants to be mad, but Nagito looks two seconds away from a full-blown panic attack, and Hajime <em>really </em>does not want to cause a scene. “Whatever. Just sit down. It’s not that big a deal.” </p>
<p>Nagito practically throws himself into the offered chair. He sits ramrod straight with both hands on his knees and stares directly at Hajime with that deer-in-the-headlights gaze he’s adapted. They stay like that for a good ten seconds, neither breaking eye contact. It’s just at the point of excruciatingly awkward when Nagito tilts his head down and sighs. </p>
<p>“That was my job, Hajime,” he pouts in a way that’s eerily similar to Kazuichi. </p>
<p>Hajime raises an eyebrow. It’s been maybe five minutes and their first in-person meeting is already off to a rocky start. “What do you mean, ‘that was your job’?” </p>
<p>“I <em>mean</em> that <em>I </em>was supposed to be the one that paid for things.” He’s still looking down and, yeah, Nagito could definitely give Kazuichi a run for his money. “You were nice enough to invite me out today, even though you didn’t have to. The best way for me to show my gratitude is to buy you coffee. Plus, this shop isn’t exactly cheap. It’s not a college student hangout for a reason, you know?”</p>
<p>Hajime clenches his teeth; the constant reminder that he’s less than affluent isn’t sitting well. And talking to Nagito is like disabling a bomb, Hajime is finding out. He seemed much less high-strung over the phone. </p>
<p>“I don’t- okay, you know what, I’m kind of hungry. Buy me one of the sugar cookies up there and we’ll call it even, deal?” </p>
<p>Thankfully that, of all things, makes him happy. He perks up immediately. </p>
<p>“Yes! Of course, Hajime. I’m glad you see what I was talking about.” Nagito bounces from his chair and scurries over to the front counter, and Hajime, content that he’s finally resolved the issue, reclines in his chair and waits for Nagito’s return. </p>
<p>Dealing with Nagito is already becoming tiring, and a small part of Hajime is regretting arranging this meeting. Although that’s not fair, because he already knew Nagito was a little quirky. Not <em>this </em>quirky maybe, but he can chalk it up to nerves. He’d never said as much, but Hajime gets the feeling that Nagito doesn’t really go out or spend time with other people. </p>
<p>But he’s a decent enough guy. A little submissive and nervous, but also clever and intensely smart in ways Hajime’s never seen before. </p>
<p>Up at the counter, he can see Nagito scanning the cookie options with far too much sincerity. His lips are pursed, hand resting at the bottom of his chin, as he converses inaudibly with one of the baristas. Her short, pinkish hair flops around her face as she dips to retrieve the cookie Nagito has finally decided on. </p>
<p>He goes through the motions of paying, and Hajime averts his eyes as he turns back around so it’s not obvious he’s been staring. He briefly wonders if Nagito could sense it. Hopefully not. </p>
<p>“Here you go, Hajime.” Nagito’s wispy voice breaks through Hajime’s thoughts, and he looks up to see a playfully decorated cookie thrust into his line of vision. “I hope you like this one. It has a little cat on it. I thought that was cute.” </p>
<p>It is a rather cute cookie, although Hajime won’t admit that out loud. It’s round, with two triangles at the top for ears, and covered with rich chocolate frosting. The cat’s expression is playful, one paw raised as if to swat at a ball. It makes him smile a little. </p>
<p>Nagito perches at the edge of his seat. He looks apprehensive, almost like he’s waiting for Hajime to throw the cookie back in his face and demand he get another one. He visibly relaxes when Hajime thanks him and takes a bite, complementing the taste. </p>
<p>“Nothing for yourself?” Hajime eyes the emptiness of Nagito’s hands. He hadn't realized Nagito wouldn’t be getting anything, and now he feels like a jerk for letting him pay. Even if he had so desperately wanted to. </p>
<p>“Oh no, I’m not one for sweets,” He says and crinkles his nose slightly. “Not that Ruruka doesn’t make amazing pastries! She’s an outstanding baker. She went to one of the best schools in the country, I heard.” </p>
<p>Hajime nods as he takes another bite. It’s evident that she’s gifted and he’s momentarily jealous of her clear skill. He’s never been exceptionally talented at one thing, although he wishes he was. </p>
<p>“I did get coffee though,” Nagito continues shyly. “It’s not my usual thing, but this isn’t my usual kind of day either. So, I thought I would branch out.” </p>
<p>“What do you normally drink?” He needs to keep Nagito talking so they don’t end up staring awkwardly at each other while Hajime eats. Half of the cookie is gone, but he doesn’t want the conversation to run dry as he finishes the other half. </p>
<p>“Tea. Chamomile especially. It’s so calming, and it smells nice, too.” He pauses. “And lavender. The little tins are always so cute, and besides that, it’s good for sleeping.” </p>
<p>“Nagito?” </p>
<p>Sayaka’s clear voice rings out across the cafe, just as Nagito finishes speaking. She’s holding an eggshell blue coffee cup in her hand.</p>
<p>“Oh, that would be me.” Nagito says, more to himself than anyone. He stands gracefully from his chair and raises his hand slightly to catch Sayaka’s attention.</p>
<p>“All set, sir!” She chirps and places the cup on the counter before turning back to her phone. Nagito excuses himself to retrieve it, and Hajime notices how slight he looks as he walks away. His oversized jacket can’t hide rail-thin legs or delicate wrists. It’s almost as if something’s wrong, but it’s not Hajime’s position to pass that kind of judgement. And there’s no way he’s going to ask about something like that either. </p>
<p>This time, he watches unabashedly as Nagito returns. A pale pink blush paints Nagito’s face when he notices, and he looks down self-consciously as he settles into his seat. It fits him nicely, that little bit of color, and Hajime realizes how unhealthily pale he looks without it. </p>
<p>Nagito keeps the cup close to his body, fiddling with the handle in the new silence. Hajime pops the last bit of cookie into his mouth and wipes his fingers on the small napkin. </p>
<p>“Thank you for inviting me, Hajime,” Nagito says from overtop his cup. He has both hands clutched protectively around it now in what Hajime can assume is comforting. </p>
<p>Hajime nods, tells him thank you, and secretly relishes in the way Nagito relaxes fully at the words.</p>
<p>They talk until both their cups are drained. Nagito offers more than once to buy him more and manages to look less put out by Hajime politely declining each time. It’s progress.</p>
<p>“Oh,” Nagito pauses to reach for something in his jacket. A crisp $20 bill emerges in his hand and he places it on the table in front of Hajime. “For your coffee.” </p>
<p>“But you already bought me a cookie. We called it even, remember?” Hajime sounds less than pleased. He’s not eager to rehash that conversation. </p>
<p>“Well, I guess it’s for more than that, really.” Nagito sounds nervous all of a sudden and it puts Hajime on edge. He waits as Nagito fishes around inside his jacket and shakily pulls out something that looks suspiciously like-</p>
<p>Hajime’s eyes go wide. </p>
<p>“You said you needed tuition money, right? Will this be enough?” </p>
<p>He slides a stack of rubber-banded hundred-dollar bills across the table. It has to be at least $2,000, and he’s yet he’s casually leaving it in the open, <em>in public</em>.</p>
<p>“Nagito, I- you shouldn’t be walking around with that much money,” Hajime whispers harshly. He gathers the stack of bills and slips them into his jacket's inner pocket, hastily scanning the room to make sure no one’s noticed them. Something melancholy flickers across Nagito’s eyes at the action. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry.” </p>
<p>It’s so resigned. So quiet and lacking emotion that Hajime’s heart clenches painfully. </p>
<p>“No, that was rude of me.” Hajime pinches the skin between his eyebrows and squeezes his eyes shut like he’s battling a headache. “Thank you very, <em>very </em>much, Nagito. You have no idea how helpful this will be. It’s just a little… weird is all, to have someone give me that much money. Especially since I’ve done nothing to deserve it.” </p>
<p>Nagito’s eyes light up immediately. “But you are doing something, Hajime! You’re going to college and learning how to make the world a better place! You’ll bring so much hope to the people you treat one day, and that alone is worth all the money in the world. Plus, you wanted to meet me. That’s worth something, too.” He says the last part quietly. So quietly that Hajime isn’t sure he’s heard correctly over the hum of the coffee machines and the subtle background music. </p>
<p>“I don’t know if I would call it <em>that</em>,” he replies bashfully. “If we’re being honest, I keep missing my cognitive class so I can sleep in.” He says nothing about Nagito’s last few words. He doesn’t know how to begin unpacking that. </p>
<p>The joke, at least, makes Nagito laugh. He looks infinitely better like this than he does with that kicked puppy expression. </p>
<p>“You know, Hajime, I’m jealous. I would’ve liked to go to college, but I never could.” His smile is still there, but it’s wistful now. As though Nagito’s looking into a past he never had. </p>
<p>“Why couldn’t you? Clearly not for financial reasons.” He gestures toward the money tucked snugly against his body. They both laugh momentarily.</p>
<p>“I was too sick. I would’ve never been able to attend classes.” </p>
<p>And then, in a split second so fast Hajime barely has time to register the words, Nagito’s expression morphes into one of panic. His eyes go impossibly wide and his mouth forms around a gasp. </p>
<p>“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Hajime reassures him. Secretly, he’s intensely intrigued by whatever Nagito’s talking about. But he’s not mean enough to make him explain something that clearly wasn’t meant to be said. </p>
<p>“You’re so kind, Hajime,” Nagito whispers. He looks ashamed, like he’s somehow failed Hajime. That melancholy expression is painted across his eyes again. </p>
<p>“I’m just doing what anyone else would.” </p>
<p>There’s silence after that. It’s not uncomfortable like Hajime would’ve assumed. It leaves him on edge- because Nagito still looks like he’s teetering the line between full-blown angst and mild sadness- but somehow, it’s strangely peaceful. Which is something he’s noticed in these past few hours; Nagito brings with him a serenity Hajime hasn’t felt in a long time. </p>
<p>Across from him, Nagito’s eyes flick to the windows. Worry flashes across his face, which of course prompts Hajime to turn around and see what could be concerning him. Fat, grey clouds are broiling in the sky. Strips of sunlight shrink along the walls as they roll closer, moving at an almost alarming pace. </p>
<p>“I don’t mean to cut this meeting short, Hajime,” Nagito begins weakly. “But I think I should go. The forecast didn’t predict rain today, but what else could those clouds be? And I didn’t bring an umbrella.” </p>
<p>He ends with a shaky laugh, and in that instant Hajime can’t imagine Nagito Komaeda walking all the way home in a rainstorm. He’d get blown around by the wind for sure, and besides that, Hajime doesn’t want to imagine him drenched to the bone, hair plastered haphazardly across his face. It’ll make him look even more sad than he already does. </p>
<p>“Uh, yeah. It does look like something’s coming in,” Hajime agrees. He rises clumsily to his feet just as Nagito does, and they both pause to look at each other. Nagito’s slightly taller than him, Hajime realizes; just barely enough to be noticeable. </p>
<p>“Thank you for inviting me. And for letting me pay. I hope I wasn’t too much of a bore.”</p>
<p>It’s almost painful to sit through Nagito’s pitiful version of a thank you. Hajime doesn’t deserve one to begin with, seeing as all he’d done was invite Nagito; and even then, it had been mostly Kazuichi doing the work. And besides, it’s awkward to hear Nagito berate himself like that. Especially when he knows Nagito expects him to agree. </p>
<p>“You don’t have to thank me,” Hajime says as they start towards the door. “And you weren’t a bore either. I had a good time. Genuinely.” </p>
<p>Nagito stops abruptly, hand halfway to the door handle, as though he’s heard something wrong. Hajime waits for him to disagree, but, surprisingly, nothing comes. There’s a pause, and then he’s pushing the door open into a biting wind that hadn’t been there before. </p>
<p>It’s harsher than Hajime would’ve thought, and as they face each other to say goodbye, he notices the way Nagito huddles into himself. His mind flashes forward to the next few minutes, when he’ll cross the street to his warm car and Nagito will turn to make his way home by foot, and it doesn’t take long to make the decision. </p>
<p>“I’ll give you a ride back home, ‘kay?” Hajime falters for a second afterwards. “That is, if you’re alright with that. You can say no.” </p>
<p>Nagito stares incredulously at him. “You- you don’t have to do that for me, Hajime. I wouldn’t want you to go out of your way just for me.” </p>
<p>Another breeze comes along at the moment and it’s impossible to miss the way Nagito flinches as hair blows straight across his face. His balances wobbles momentarily, and Hajime worries he’s going to fall right over. </p>
<p>“Please? I get it if you don’t want me seeing your house, but I can drop you off at the end of the road or something if that’s the case.” He pauses for a second, and then, “but I don’t feel right letting you walk home with the storm coming. The wind’s already giving you a hard time.” </p>
<p>They lock eyes again, Nagito looking for all the world like he’s trying to find a way out of this. </p>
<p>“Okay,” he resigns meekly. “If you really don’t mind then that would be nice. Thank you.” </p>
<p>Hajime smiles- parrots back that of course he doesn’t mind, he <em>offered, </em>didn’t he? - and points Nagito in the direction of his car parked across the way. He fishes through his pockets to find the keys as they walk, and Nagito good-naturedly cracks a joke about how he needs to be more organized. He seems happier now, Hajime notes, but his emotions do seem to be rather sporadic. </p>
<p>They reach the car quickly enough. Nagito practically throws himself into the passenger seat, but still manages to maintain that uptight posture; like he’s intruding on something and doesn’t want to take up much space. Hajime clambers into the driver’s side moments later. </p>
<p>“It’s a short way, Hajime. Only ten minutes maybe.” </p>
<p>They talk on the way back, Nagito dutifully giving directions and humming along quietly to the music. He looks at Hajime, at the small smile etched onto his face even as he concentrates on the road. He’s been so kind, inviting Nagito out and listening to his rambling, laughing at his poorly constructed jokes and yet-</p>
<p>It leaves a bad taste in his mouth. Junko was right; anyone will be his friend if he pays them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I figured we all needed some good fluff, but it's just so easy to slip the angst in there with Nagito too. ^.^ </p>
<p>Thank you once more for all your lovely comments, kudos and bookmarks! I haven't been able to respond to some of the comments yet, but I will very soon! As always, please leave a comment or a kudos if you're enjoying the story; feedback motivates me and I love hearing from everyone!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Uploading a new chapter at a reasonable hour? Couldn't be me.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"This is home.” </p><p>“<em>That </em>is way more than a home.” </p><p>And it is; Nagito’s house is massive. Although, Hajime thinks, ‘house’ isn’t really the word to describe it. </p><p>It’s a mansion in every sense; a gigantic creation of stone work and gilded iron that looks like something straight out of the magazines Hajime’s mom reads. Nagito points it out before they even turn onto the road, and it’s easy to spot with its four chimneys and high-peaked roof visible over the trees. Hajime can <em>smell </em>the money, and also something distinctively salty. Almost like-</p><p>“I have a private beach,” Nagito mentions then, as though he knows what Hajime is thinking about. “I’d take you down to it, if the weather were nicer. It’s everyone’s favorite part.” </p><p>“Oh, um, that’s okay. I didn’t bring a swimsuit anyway.” </p><p>“You’re funny, Hajime.” Nagito giggles quietly behind his hand. “I have extras. You could borrow one.” </p><p>Hajime doesn’t respond. Fat raindrops pelt the car rhythmically, Nagito pulls absentmindedly at a loose string on his jacket sleeve, and a quaint silence falls over the two. It’s comfortable, not strained, and strangely Hajime wishes they weren’t coming up on the driveway. He’d like to drive a little while longer. </p><p>“Ahh, here it is.” Someone has to break the silence, eventually, and it’s Nagito. He points vaguely to the left as he ducks his head and fishes something from his wallet. “Wave this in front of the sensor, there.” </p><p>He hands Hajime a card, indistinct except for the looping NK scrawled across its entirety. It’s for the gate- because of course Nagito’s house has one, that should have been obvious- and it’s like something out of a movie when the card reader lights up and says “welcome home” in a robotic monotone.</p><p>“That’s not very secure, Nagito,” Hajime frowns as he hands the card back. “What if you lost it and someone used it to get in?” </p><p>Nagito giggles again; that same breathy, almost gasping noise he’s so fond of making. “There’s no address on it. If they could find what it belongs to, well, I’d be more than a little impressed.” </p><p>“It has your initials,” Hajime replies dryly. </p><p>Nagito shrugs and focuses on tucking the card back into its place. “Don’t bring me bad luck, Hajime. I haven’t lost it once in all these years, but now that you’ve mentioned it, it’s going to happen.” </p><p>From the corner of his eye, Hajime can see Nagito’s lips twitch up into a smile. It’s small, but genuine, and his eyes shine mischievously along with it. </p><p>“Shut up.” Hajime rolls his eyes and curses the grin that spreads across his own face. </p><p>It takes what feels like forever to get up the driveway. It’s much longer than it appeared originally, with perfectly manicured trees flanking each side just tall enough to be imposing. Hajime feels like he’s driving up to a castle. Which would make Nagito a prince, he supposes. Although, Nagito seems far from royalty. </p><p>He looks a little ragged for someone so affluent, with his baggy t-shirt and faded black jeans. His jacket looks expensive, but old, judging by how torn the bottom is. Nagito doesn’t carry himself like a prince, either, especially not now with his pulled-in shoulders and shadowed face.</p><p>“You falling asleep there?” Hajime asks, because the way Nagito’s head has started drooping down makes it look like he’s drifting off.  </p><p>“No,” comes the soft reply. Nagito doesn’t offer any more than that, nor does he lift his head, and Hajime can’t help but feel the atmosphere change. He has no idea what could be bothering Nagito, and he doesn’t feel comfortable asking. They haven’t known each other long enough for him to pry like that. </p><p>The round the last curve of the driveway in silence. A towering fountain forces the stonework around either side, creating the kind of round driveway every mansion seems to have. It’s surprisingly colorful, made out of a pink tinged stone that glints when the headlights hit it, and surrounded by tufts of lavender and long-stemmed lilies. </p><p>“Park wherever you’d like,” Nagito mumbles. His head is still down.</p><p>It’s not the kind of statement Hajime feels the need to answer, so he rolls the car to a stop just shy of the front veranda. </p><p>‘<em>And now comes the awkward part</em>,<em>’</em> Hajime thinks, because he truly has no idea what the protocol for ‘dropping my sort-of sugar daddy off at his mega mansion’ is. The only thing coming to mind are the ridiculous, far-fetched plans Kazuichi insists are clinchers for any successful date. Except this isn’t a date, and anyway, Hajime feels like he should be more concerned with whatever’s eating away at Nagito, considering he’s still hunched in the seat like he’s afraid to be seen. </p><p>Hajime knows he’s staring, and he knows that’s rude, but between Nagito’s abruptly odd behavior and the impending doom of ending this outing without sounding like an idiot, his brain feels like it’s short-circuiting. </p><p>Which is why he’s absolutely thrilled when Nagito speaks up. </p><p>“Would you like to come in, Hajime?” </p><p>Nagito’s voice starts out strong, but by the time he reaches the end it’s withered into something light enough to be snatched by the wind. </p><p>“You- you don’t have to, of course,” he continues before Hajime can respond. “I understand if you don’t. You’ve spent so much time with me already that asking for even another minute of your day is selfish. I’m sure you have more important things to do, like school work or spending time with friends, and you won’t want to-”</p><p>“Nagito,” Hajime interrupts firmly. “How are you going to ask a question and not give me time to respond?” </p><p>The noise Nagito makes is incoherent and garbled. He looks defeated already, with that nervous tilt to his mouth and hands tucked firmly into his lap. “I shouldn’t have asked,” is all he says. </p><p>It’s a sad sight, not that Hajime would ever admit he feels <em>bad </em>for the guy. No one likes pity, and besides, he deserves credit for the confidence. However miniscule that may be, Hajime supposes, considering how upset Nagito looks at the moment. </p><p>“Yeah, you shouldn’t have if you really thought I was going to say no.” It’s cruel, how he relishes in the tightening of Nagito’s shoulders and bowed head. “But I’d like to. So it’s a good thing you did ask.”</p><p>“That was so mean, Hajime.” To which Hajime just shrugs, because it was mean and he won’t bother pretending it wasn’t. </p><p>“Can I turn this off now, then?” He gestures towards the keys still in the ignition. Nagito nods rapidly, stutters through an ‘of course, Hajime’ and some other comments that Hajime can’t hear, and pushes clumsily on the door to let himself out. The rain hasn’t let up, so Hajime rounds the corner of the car in a jog and leaps the few steps up to the front porch. </p><p>Nagito follows close behind, seemingly unbothered by the rain, and waltzes past Hajime to the sturdy oak door. It looks far too heavy for someone of Nagito’s stature. Much to his surprise, though, it swings open effortlessly. </p><p>“You don’t lock the door?” Hajime asks, incredulously. </p><p>“Of course not. You saw the gate.” </p><p>Which is not a good excuse, Hajime thinks, but he’s not about to argue. </p><p>Somehow, the inside of Nagito’s house is even more grand than the outside. They step into the foyer, a massive room of cold, white marble and towering gray walls. Hajime looks up, up, up at a ceiling that must be at least three stories tall. </p><p>“You can put your jacket in here.” </p><p>Nagito’s voice filters in from the next room, and Hajime realizes he’s been too busy staring like a tourist to notice that he’s the only one left in the foyer. He makes his way over hastily and almost collides with Nagito as he steps out from inside a closet. Somehow, his green jacket has made it through the rain unscathed. It’s still perfectly dry, unlike Hajime’s own, and so all he’s done is take off his shoes. The height difference is even smaller now, Hajime notices as he brushes past.</p><p>Nagito stands just beyond the door, fidgeting anxiously with his hands as Hajime hangs up his jacket. It makes him feel claustrophobic; something he wouldn’t have thought possible in a house this large. The closet alone is the size of his dorm’s kitchen- which isn’t saying much, Hajime supposes- but it’s still quite a difference from the small luxuries he’s accustomed to. </p><p>“I don’t know what you want to do, Hajime. Like I said, I don’t usually have company, so there isn’t much in the way of-,” Nagito pauses. His brow furrows and he looks off to the side as he searches for the right word. “Entertainment.” </p><p>“You’ve told me this three times now. It’s fine.” Hajime doesn’t mean for it to come out harshly. But it does anyway, at least to Nagito, who takes a shaky step backward as Hajime emerges from the closet. The door closes with a gentle <em>click </em>behind him. </p><p>“Yes, but what if you’re lying to be nice to me?” Nagito counters, with the kind of logic only he can conjure up, Hajime’s coming to realize. </p><p>“Why would I do that?” </p><p>The question makes Nagito pause. He looks at Hajime like he’s got three heads; like he’s stupid. </p><p>“Why… wouldn’t you? Hajime,” Nagito ventures. He says the name in three long syllables, voice petering out at the very end. </p><p>He looks like he’s genuinely waiting for an answer. Which is a problem, really, because Hajime doesn’t know what he’s looking for or why he’s looking for it. </p><p>“I don’t lie to protect people’s feelings, Nagito. It doesn’t matter that much to me.” </p><p>Somehow, weirdly, that settles Nagito’s nerves. He perks up slightly; the opposite of what Hajime was expecting, truthfully. </p><p>“Oh, well. That’s good to know. I’m glad,” he responds, stilted; not flowing and graceful like his usual speech. </p><p>“<em>Graceful?” </em>Hajime thinks to himself, then. <em>“Where did that come from?” </em></p><p>It’s unsettling how quickly his mind conjured the thought; even more so how loathe Hajime is to disagree with it. He doesn’t have time to ponder over it now, though, because Nagito’s looking at him with those big, round, doll eyes like he’s waiting for Hajime to tell him why the sun rises. </p><p>“Would you like to see my sunroom then?” </p><p>“What? Did I pass some kind of test and now you’ve decided it’s okay to show me around?” Hajime jokes, but honestly? He’d like an answer. </p><p>“You didn’t say anything back, so I knew you were being sincere. If you were lying you would’ve tried to distract me from how rude that comment was.” The way Nagito smiles at the end, like he’s somehow outsmarted Hajime, is more infuriating than he would like to admit. Talking to Nagito really is an enigma. </p><p>Even <em>more</em> of an enigma is the way Nagito takes Hajime’s hand, and the way Hajime lets him without any kind of fuss. He leads Hajime through a sitting room full of sleek black furniture, a game room too pristine to have ever been used, a music room with a piano that <em>must </em>have cost a million dollars, at least, and finally into the aforementioned sunroom. </p><p>It’s not at all what Hajime was expecting. There’s powder pink couches and gauzy curtains, pillows with pastel flowers and big, gaudy gems in the center, twinkling lights in tall, golden lanterns and a rug so velvety, Hajime can’t find a reason to insult it. It’s girly, and soft; so out of place next to the sleek decor and sharp angles filling the rest of Nagito’s house. </p><p>“What do you think, Hajime?”</p><p>Hajime <em>thinks </em>he’s stumbled into a room fit for the sugar plum fairy. He wants to crack a joke about the femininity, but he hasn’t fully deduced Nagito’s sense of humor, and he doesn’t know how well the joke will land. He thinks of the money sitting comfortably in his jacket and decides it’s not worth the risk. Besides, it’s evident how happy Nagito is as he bounds over to one of the couches and nestles into a mountain of pillows. He grips one to his chest so sweetly and innocently that Hajime would feel downright mean mocking anything now. </p><p>“It’s- not what I would’ve imagined, for sure,” he settles on. “But the windows are nice.” </p><p>And he genuinely means that. There isn’t much in the way of wall space here, just rows of windows that look out onto a lush garden and faintly, in the distance, the shoreline. Hajime imagines they must let in an absurd amount of sunlight. </p><p>The half-compliment seems to satisfy Nagito plenty. He smiles brightly, squeezing his eyes shut like he’s savoring something. One pops open a second later and pins its gaze on Hajime still hovering near the entrance. </p><p>“Sit <em>down</em>, Hajime!” He chirps. “You look silly just standing there.” </p><p>Which, Hajime supposes, he does. But he’s facing an internal dilemma, and it isn’t making the seating choice easy. Nagito’s sunroom has two couches, positioned well within comfortable conversation distance, and it leaves Hajime unsure as to which one he should pick. He could sit next to Nagito, but would that be too familiar? They’re friends, but the couches are small, and it would surely be a tight fit for the two of them. Would Nagito find it rude if he sat on the other, though? It seems the more obvious choice, given how they’d only officially met about three hours ago, but Nagito doesn’t seem like the type of person to care about things like that. </p><p>“What’s wrong?” Nagito stands, pillow still held safely in one arm, and crosses the short distance to Hajime. He’s taken too long, evidently, and the lack of response has Nagito worried. </p><p>“Nothing, I was just-” He’s about to spout some nonsense about enjoying the ocean view, only to be interrupted by Nagito, again, taking his hand. </p><p>“Don’t be shy, Hajime! I would like it very much if you sat next to me. Although, I understand if that disgusts you.” </p><p>He’s never heard someone talk so poorly about themselves, let alone sound so chipper and nonchalant while doing so. The shock leaves Hajime pliable enough for Nagito to plop back into his spot, and pull Hajime down with him. He was right, the couch is a bit cramped for two people, and Nagito’s knee ends up pressed against his thigh. It’s bony and a little awkward, but not altogether uncomfortable. </p><p>“Is this okay?” Nagito asks. And no, it’s not really okay, because he’s in the mansion of a man that’s paying his tuition and now they’re almost cuddling, but Hajime kind of likes it, and that’s new. </p><p>“It’s fine.”</p><p>“Are you sure?” Nagito shifts, and his knee slips further up Hajime’s leg. It’s mid-thigh now.</p><p>“I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t.” </p><p>Nagito hums like he’s considering something. Like he’s considering arguing back, most likely, and the beginnings of a headache prod Hajime’s temples at the thought. </p><p>“You’re so honest, Hajime. Does that make you think you’re better than other people?” </p><p>A lopsided smile adorns his face. It’s half smirk, half sincere grin and it looks decidedly good on him. This Nagito is so different from the one at the cafe; more comfortable and outspoken, less unsure. It’s nice, in one sense, but weird in another. Maybe Nagito’s the type of person that needs to warm up- Hajime certainly is, sometimes- so he decides to chalk it up to that, and the sense of security that comes with being in his own home. </p><p>“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” Hajime grumbles. But there’s no real malice behind it, and they both know that. Nagito laughs- clear, like a bell- and it drowns out the rhythmic beating of the rain against the windows. His knee slips away from Hajime’s thigh. </p><p>It’s strange, really, how Hajime almost misses it. </p><p>“I don’t think I’m funny. Not at all,” Nagito replies, and he says it with a smile that’s softer around the edges. He sounds so serious, though, that Hajime can’t quite figure out if he’s still joking or if he really means it. </p><p>“Sure act like you do,” Hajime retorts, because it feels right. </p><p>They laugh, then, and Nagito hunkers into the cocoon of his jacket. It’s too good to be true that Hajime’s here beside him; but no matter how many times Nagito blinks, there he is, tucked at the opposite end of the couch. He feels light, and giddy. Like he could smile for the rest of his life. </p><p>He doesn’t remember the last time he’s had someone over like this, honestly. Besides Junko and Mukuro and the rest, anyway, because they don’t count. He never feels truly happy when they’re around. </p><p>“I’ve never seen waves like that.” </p><p>Hajime’s voice breaks Nagito from his thoughts. He’s turned to the window, intently looking at something Nagito can’t see. It would be so easy to lean against him, get the few precious inches he needs to see whatever has Hajime so captivated. But that would be weird- because everything Nagito does is weird, somehow- so he doesn’t. </p><p>“Sometimes I think the ocean will swallow this house up,” Nagito notes. His voice pulls Hajime from the window. “Wouldn’t that be awful luck?” </p><p>“It would be,” Hajime says automatically. Like he’s in a trance. Nagito’s staring at him, and he’s staring right back, and there’s something untouchable floating in the recesses of Nagito’s endless, stormy eyes. Something that reminds Hajime of plane crashes and burning buildings and <em>despair</em> held back by a gossamer thread.</p><p>“Do you ever think about how, one day, neither of us will exist anymore?” </p><p>And Nagito looks so tiny. With wrists like bird’s wings and skin so pale it almost glows in the waning, dampened light of the rainstorm. A ghost, almost. Ethereal. </p><p>“I don’t know.” Hajime whispers. It feels wrong to speak at full volume, and something in the back of his throat stops him from even trying. Outside, waves crash against the beach. Red and white lights blink in the distance, an unlucky ship tumbling against the waves, and Hajime wonders what it’s like to drown. </p><p>“I do.” </p><p>Nagito’s breath ghosts across his face, and Hajime doubts he would’ve heard the words if they weren’t so close. It should be alarming, but it feels right, somehow; like they’re the last people on Earth, holed up in this mansion by the sea, and it’s sacred. Nagito’s lips part into a wicked smile. He looks deranged.</p><p>“Nagito.” Hajime’s voice sounds too loud and it makes Nagito flinch. He doesn’t respond- and what would he have responded to? Hajime didn’t pose a question-, choosing instead to look over Hajime’s shoulder at nothing and everything all at once. So they sit like that, quietly, with Nagito staring into space and Hajime studying the way his hair frays at the ends. </p><p>“Are you okay?” Hajime asks eventually. Nagito looks strangely peaceful and it feels wrong to interrupt him. But he can’t deny that for however unnervingly normal this situation feels, it’s still immensely strange. </p><p>Nagito blinks once, twice, and then he’s back in the sunroom. Mentally, anyway, because it looks like he’s coming back online. His head tilts to Hajime, eyes tracking just noticeably slower, and he looks so guilty when he finally meets Hajime’s gaze. </p><p>“Oh! I’m being an awful host, aren’t I? Did you want something to eat?” </p><p>“I-”</p><p>Nagito leaps from his seat, inadvertently cutting Hajime short as he nearly trips in his own haste. He tips forward dangerously, arms outstretched to break his fall. It’s on instinct alone that Hajime’s hand shoots out to catch him, but Nagito flinches away when Hajime manages to make contact. He regains balance miraculously quick for someone so unsteady looking. </p><p>“Please, don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.” </p><p>Nagito scurries out of the room with a speed Hajime wouldn’t have thought he possessed. He doesn’t miss the far away look in his eyes when he says the words, though; like he’s still off somewhere far away. Somewhere Hajime can’t reach.</p><p>The rain is much louder now that he’s alone. It’s still muffled against the thick panes of glass, but he notices it more acutely without Nagito here to distract him. He considers texting Kazuichi and Fuyhiko to let them know he’s alright, but he really doesn’t feel like dealing with the fallout of questions at the moment. </p><p>Besides, it doesn’t take long for Nagito to return. He enters the room with a plate of delicate Italian pastries and a brown haired girl in tow. A brown haired girl with sleepy pink eyes and a delicate bow mouth that Hajime instantly recognizes. </p><p>“Chiaki?” </p><p>It’s her, it has to be. They haven’t seen each other in ten years, but Hajime would recognize his old best friend anywhere. </p><p>“Hajime?” </p><p>She dutifully places the tea set she’s carrying on one of the side tables before turning to face him fully. Her eyes rove his body like she’s unsure it’s really him, but when their eyes finally meet she instantly breaks into a grin. </p><p>“Hajime!” She repeats and rushes forward, arms outstretched, to pull him into a hug. Nagito stands awkwardly beside them. He knows it’s rude to stare- he does it too often, as Junko likes to remind him- so after a moment of watching the two embrace, he hastily busies himself with organizing the tea things. A cup for Hajime, a cup for himself; two spoons and a bowl of sugar, and they’re still wrapped in each other’s arms. </p><p>Chiaki’s voice floats softly over the clinking of the silverware. It’s none of Nagito’s business, he shouldn’t be listening, but he can’t really help it in such a tiny space. Hajime’s voice joins her, and they’re just <em>friends</em> catching up- probably, Nagito really doesn’t know- but it makes his chest feel like glass. A laugh bubbles up inside him and he bites his lip hard to keep it in. So hard that he’s surprised he doesn’t break the skin. </p><p>“Are you okay, Nagito?” </p><p>He realizes that no one’s talking anymore. Nagito has no idea when they stopped, but there’s a spoon on the floor and the sugar bowl is tipped over, and he doesn’t know when either of those things happened either. </p><p>“I-I’m okay. Just clumsy. Sorry.” </p><p>He ducks mechanically to retrieve the spoon. Both Hajime and Chiaki’s eyes are on him, and they’re not talking anymore, which means he ruined their time. </p><p>“Let me get you a new one.” Chiaki- gentle, sweet, perfect Chiaki- steps forward to take the fallen utensil from his hands. He clutches it uselessly, like a lost child. “Sit. Enjoy yourself, Nagito.” </p><p>Her hands are gentle at his shoulders as she pushes him towards one of the chairs. He can smell her perfume as she leans in to scoop some of the sugar back into the bowl. </p><p>“You too, Hajime. It was so nice to see you again.”</p><p>Nagito doesn’t miss the smile they exchange as Hajime slides into his seat. “Yeah. I can’t believe you’ve been here this whole time and I didn’t even know.” </p><p>Something about it makes Nagito nauseous, so he busies himself with pouring some tea and selecting a pastry as they say their goodbyes. He only relaxes when he hears the door swing shut. </p><p>Hajime doesn’t speak, but there’s a remnant of something close to bliss on his face. He looks lighter, carries himself a little differently, and it pulls too strongly at Nagito’s chest. </p><p>“So,” Hajime looks up at the first breathy syllable of Nagito’s voice, “how do you know Chiaki?”</p><p>“She was my best friend up until middle school. Her family moved away in seventh grade, and we tried to stay in touch, but it became too difficult after a while. We both had different things going on.” Hajime taps the spoon gently on the edge of his teacup, like he’s seen in movies. It makes him feel fancy, even if the noise echoes too loudly in the quiet room. “I didn’t know she moved back here, though. We haven’t talked in… well, it must be almost six years now.”</p><p>“Ah, I see.” Nagito toys with the spoon in his teacup; circles it around, around, around even though he hasn’t added any sugar. “You can go visit her, if you want. Don’t feel like you have to stay with me.” </p><p>His eyes are too bright, smile too full, but the tone he uses is genuine. </p><p>“I’m being serious, really,” Nagito continues. “She was your best friend. I’m sure seeing her again after eight years is more pressing than drinking tea and watching the rain with someone like me.” </p><p>And it’s mysterious. If Hajime had heard this conversation before he met Nagito, before he was sitting here, he would have agreed. He would’ve leapt from his chair the second the offer was made and never looked back. Now, though, the thought feels wrong. He hasn’t seen Chiaki in eight years; she’s a person Hajime doesn’t know anymore. But Nagito? </p><p>Nagito, he knows; and the things he doesn’t know, he wants to learn. So, really, the answer comes easily. </p><p>“No, I’m fine here. I’m enjoying this.” </p><p>He doesn’t miss the way Nagito stiffens or the way his face crinkles minutely. He clearly wasn’t expecting this answer, and it’s thrown him off. </p><p>“It’s the same thing we did at the cafe, though,” Nagito protests weakly. His words lack conviction, and Hajime knows he’s saying it simply because he’s still unsure. </p><p>“Yeah, it is. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m having a good time.” He punctuates the sentence with a poignant sip of tea, closing his eyes and leaning back in a show of comfort. When he sets the cup down and looks again, Nagito’s entire being is trained on him. His eyes are hyper focused, like Hajime is the only thing that matters.</p><p>“We can go to the game room after, if you want,” Nagito suggests shyly. “I don’t ever use it, but there might be something fun in there.”  </p><p>“Okay,” Hajime smiles back. “I’m awful at pool, though. So we can’t play that.”</p><p>Nagito laughs delicately behind his cup. His voice compliments the dull rhythm of rain filling the room. It’s deafening, when no one’s talking, but it feels right all the same. He reaches for a cookie with deft fingers, nibbles the end gently as he stares out at the empty bird bath in the garden, and it’s so different from the Nagito at the coffee shop. So different from the Nagito twenty minutes ago. </p><p>They finish leisurely, and Hajime insists he help Nagito bring the empty trays back to the kitchen. He’s already prepared when Nagito protests, choosing to wait for the moment his precarious grip on the items falters, and swoops in to steal one away. Nagito complains, of course, but it’s good naturedly and he doesn’t try to take the tray back. </p><p>They walk back, then,- through the foyer with its skyscraper ceiling, and the sitting room full of exotic knick knacks- to the game room that most definitely has not been touched in ages. Nagito doesn’t know where the controllers for the gaming systems are when Hajime asks; and he doesn’t know what they <em>are </em>either. He looks ashamed, tells Hajime he bought them for someone else, and trips over himself when he offers to buy a newer version for Hajime. </p><p>Which makes Hajime think fondly of the nights he could waste, and even more fondly of Kazuichi’s indubitable jealousy. It would be so nice- he’d been wanting a new console for a while now- and with it he could finally get the new games he’d been looking at. Still, something feels morally wrong about letting someone else buy him something so expensive. He tries to protest, but Nagito won’t listen, and soon enough he’s staring at a confirmation screen. </p><p>“It’ll be here Thursday,” Nagito says proudly. </p><p>As it turns out, Nagito has an ungodly amount of games. He happens upon a cabinet of them, stacked four feet high, easily, that spill onto the ground when he opens it. Hajime shouldn’t be surprised. </p><p>“You must own every game in existence.” He notes sarcastically. It goes unnoticed by Nagito, who nods enthusiastically and makes a comment about needing to please his guests. It sounds so wrong when he says it like that, Hajime tells him, but that, too, goes over his head. </p><p>It’s admirable, almost, how innocent he seems sometimes. </p><p><em>Innocent or ignorant?’ </em>Hajime’s brain supplies, and he settles on the former option. It sounds nicer. </p><p>The only game Nagito can figure out is a single player, detective monstrosity. <em>Twilight Syndrome</em> is a classic, Hajime knows, but it’s not something he would ever consider playing with a friend. He’s played it through three times already and knows the storyline like the back of his hand. It takes ten minutes to convince Nagito that he doesn’t mind replaying it, and another fifteen to teach him the controls. </p><p>The mechanics are simple, and the logic decidedly more difficult, but Nagito struggles more with rotating the camera and moving his character than with finding the clues. He doesn’t take long to tire of it all, and within minutes he’s handing the controller to Hajime. They make a good team, with Nagito deciphering the clues and Hajime maneuvering around the map. He’s becoming more confident, Hajime notices; quicker to take control and less skittish in his words. He’s brilliant, too. They’re barely halfway through the first case and Nagito has already pieced together a perfect representation of the crime. </p><p>“You’re too smart for this game,” Hajime says, because he means it, and the tiny compliment makes Nagito flush happily. </p><p>They play like that until movement catches Hajime’s attention. He turns just in time to see Nagito’s head bob slightly before his eyes snap open and he jolts back. His eyes shift to the side, clearly trying to assess whether or not he’s been seen, and he smiles sheepishly when his gaze meets Hajime’s. </p><p>“Are you tired?” Hajime asks, as though the answer isn’t painfully obvious. </p><p>“Not at all! What would make you think that?” </p><p>Nagito’s a poor liar; the yawn he fails to hide confirms it. </p><p>“I don’t know,” Hajime drones, “what would make me think that?” </p><p>“I already asked you that question.” </p><p>And, oh, right. He’s already forgotten Nagito’s strange inability to understand sarcasm. As it stands, he’s looking at Hajime with some weird mix of condescension and confusion. It annoys him a little, honestly, but he already knows it would be too much work to explain what he meant. </p><p>“Yeah,” he pauses. “Guess I should head out then. It’s probably pretty late by now, anyway.” </p><p>“Yeah.” </p><p>Nagito doesn’t make any move to get up, and it could be the sleep in his eyes, but Hajime thinks he looks almost sad. </p><p>“I’ve had a lot of fun,” he offers. It’s generic, but Nagito perks up a little upon hearing it. </p><p>“So did I. More fun than I’ve had in a while, really.” The shy, skittish Nagito is back, it seems. He rises from the couch slowly, as though he’s resigned to the fact that Hajime really is leaving, and together they trek silently back to the foyer. </p><p>Nagito idles by the front door as Hajime slips on his jacket. He doesn’t feel claustrophobic, like he did when he first arrived, and </p><p>“Come back soon?” Nagito asks delicately, and Hajime responds by wrapping him in a hug. He’s stiff in Hajime’s arms. </p><p>“Of course. We have to finish the game, don’t we?” </p><p>He doesn’t hear Nagito’s reply, because finally- <em>finally- </em>Nagito wraps his arms around Hajime’s waist and buries his face in his shoulder. Nagito’s grip is much stronger than he would’ve expected, and he curls into the touch so wholly. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the thought blooms that this is the first real touch Nagito’s had in a long time. </p><p>They part after what must be a touch too long. Nagito’s cheeks are flush with embarrassment as he smooths down the front of his jacket. It’s become wrinkled in places, surely from being pressed so close to Hajime. </p><p>“See you then, Nagito. I’ll text you.” Hajime’s never been good at farewells. But neither has Nagito, it seems, so neither comment on the stilted goodbyes they offer as Hajime digs the keys out of his pocket and dashes through the rain to his car. </p><p>“Drive safe, Hajime!” Nagito calls out as he opens the door. He waves enthusiastically, sun-bright smile plastered wholly across his face, and Hajime can’t help the grin that hoists up his own lips. </p><p>He ducks into his car, waves one last time as he pulls out of the driveway, and watches Nagito in the rearview mirror until he rounds the first corner. Throughout it all, the smile never leaves his face. </p><p>-</p><p>Doctor Yasuke Matsuda’s exam room is always bland. There’s no personality to it; no spirit. Nothing on the walls, even. </p><p>Nagito sits and stares at the blood pressure cuff looped hastily around a boring silver hook. The examination table groans when he shifts his weight, paper crinkling under his legs. Matsuda will yell if he disrupts it too much- one of his pet peeves- so Nagito tries his hardest to sit still even though it itches his thighs. </p><p>The gown he’s wearing is an ugly pink color. It smells of hospital disinfectant, and makes him miss the green jacket folded neatly across the room. Matsuda insists he wear the gown, and that’s fine, but it feels weird to sit naked in a strange room. And he always feels so underdressed when Matsuda comes in with his shiny stethoscope and pristine white coat. </p><p>His phone sits across the room, a silent, black screen. It’s nice to see his things there, in a way. They’re a reminder that he’s a guest here. For now, at least. </p><p>One day, he won’t be. One day, he’ll be confined to a bed with tubes and monitors and all the things he’s learned not to fear, and his belongings will be tucked away in a drawer somewhere, not on a chair, because he won’t be allowed to leave. Ever.</p><p>So yes, it’s nice to see his things there. It reminds him.</p><p>Yasuke Matsuda is not one for small talk, and so he’s almost always on time. At exactly two o’clock he knocks on the door as he invites himself in. He’s meant to knock and <em>then </em>enter, Nagito knows, but someone like Matsuda has no time for that. </p><p>His presence fills the room wholly. The ugly blue folder in his hand, the one with Nagito’s name scrawled across it, looks dingy and ragged next to someone so radiant. </p><p>“This isn’t your normal visit, Nagito.” </p><p>“No, it’s not.” He shifts minutely on the table, and the crinkling of paper makes Matsuda look at him sharply. “Sorry.” </p><p>Matsuda scoffs. He throws the folder none too gently onto the counter and begins by washing his hands. </p><p>“At least you finally listened to me. I’ve been telling you for how long to come in as soon as you feel off? And this is the first time you’ve actually done it.” Matsuda’s stern voice isn’t drowned out by the water, but Nagito’s laugh is. It’s involuntary and he’s partially glad Matsuda didn’t hear it. Mostly glad. </p><p>“Open your eyes.” </p><p>Nagito does, immediately, sliding forward and shivering when Matsuda’s cold, ungloved hand rests on top of his forehead. His other hand thrusts into his coat pocket and emerges with the ophthalmoscope. It flicks on immediately- a swift, satisfying <em>click</em>- and without warning Nagito’s vision is flooded. </p><p>“That’s so bright. Did you get another-”</p><p>“Stop talking.” </p><p>Ahh, so. Matsuda’s having a bad day, and surely his presence is only making things worse. <em>He’s </em>getting worse, and that must reflect badly on such an esteemed doctor. </p><p>“Sorry.” Nagito opens his eyes so wide it hurts and tries to ignore how blank Matsuda’s face looks. He doesn’t even acknowledge the apology.</p><p>“Follow the light.” </p><p>His eyes go up, down, sideways, and finally, once the light has burned so deeply into Nagito’s retinas that he blinks through spots of white, Matsuda decides he’s had enough. He tucks the instrument back into his pocket wordlessly before leaning heavily against the counter. </p><p>“You’ve been having symptoms?” </p><p>“I, uh, yes,” Nagito stutters. Matsuda looks so bored and unhappy that it makes him falter. “The behavioral issues are getting worse. My emotions change very quickly sometimes and I think it might be unsettling to a lot of people.” </p><p>Unsettling to Hajime, is what he means. But Matsuda doesn’t seem to be in the mood to learn about him, so it would be rude to mention. Cruel, even. </p><p>“How so?” </p><p>Matsuda always asks him this, and it feels like a trap every time. He can’t stand Nagito’s tangents, but that’s the only way he can describe it all. ‘Emotions aren’t linear,’ Miaya told him once. ‘You have to let them flow.’ He wishes she would explain that to Matsuda.</p><p>“I- I’m not sure how to tell you,” Nagito settles on. His voice is tiny. </p><p>“Try.” If Nagito’s voice is tiny, Matsuda’s is enormous. He doesn’t speak particularly loudly, but he speaks with conviction, and it eats Nagito alive. </p><p>“You won’t like it. It’s not linear.” </p><p>Matsuda only stares. His eyes are so startlingly blue. </p><p>“Tell me anyway.” His eyes are so startlingly blue, and they remind Nagito of a wolf’s. But they feel safe, too. </p><p>“Sometimes-,” he starts. Stops. Then starts over again. “I feel like an imposter sometimes. I hear the things I say and it feels like, ‘Nagito Komaeda would never say that. He would never have the confidence.’ And then sometimes it feels so nice, because sometimes it makes people like me more. They think I’m fun, and happy, and not so weird. But then I ruin it by saying something wrong. And I never know what it is that’s wrong, unless sometimes I do, but even then it’s too late to save anything.”</p><p>It comes out in one breath, and his failing lungs can’t withstand that kind of strain, so he chokes on too large of an inhale. </p><p>“Take your time.”</p><p>“I’m fine.”</p><p>“You’re not.” Matsuda pins him to the table with those eyes again. He reaches across the counter, fills a plastic cup with lukewarm water as quickly as he can, and thrusts it into Nagito’s hands. “Drink this and talk slower.” </p><p>The water slides down his throat, and, oh. Nagito hadn’t realized how parched he was. </p><p>“You really are so amazing,” he whines, and Matsuda just shakes his head. “But I was saying, wasn’t I? That sometimes I say things wrong, or I make someone uncomfortable, and I don’t know why. I don’t want to do that anymore, but I think it’s getting worse.” </p><p>His voice drains from the room, replaced by nothing but the faint scratching of Matsuda’s pen. Nagito fidgets in the silence. The paper crinkles beneath his legs and he tenses. </p><p>“I want to draw blood,” Matsuda says, finitely. “And an MRI. You were doing so well.” </p><p>He might sound sad; if only Nagito knew that Yasuke Matsuda did not experience <em>sad</em>. It stings, because Nagito has no control over his brain, and they both know that. But that doesn’t stop Matsuda from making the comments, and it certainly doesn’t stop Nagito from feeling ashamed. </p><p>“Today?” </p><p>Matsuda nods. He doesn’t ask if that’s okay, since he must know by now that Nagito’s never busy, but still; it would’ve been nice. </p><p>“I need to find out what’s happening immediately.” </p><p>And, oh, Nagito really is an awful person.  Matsuda only ever has his best interests at heart, and here Nagito is doubting him. Surely there are other patients needing to be seen, but they’re getting pushed aside for <em>him</em>. He doesn’t deserve such a caring, persistent doctor, and yet he’s here, taking up more and more and more of Matsuda’s time. </p><p>“Stop rambling in your head,” Matsuda scolds. “I can practically hear your thoughts.” </p><p>“It can’t be helped. You’re so wonderful.” </p><p>He pauses. “I would’ve cured you already if I was wonderful.” </p><p>Matsuda always says things like that, and it makes Nagito sad. He shouldn’t be so hard on himself. Nagito was never destined for a long and healthy life, he knows, and even Matsuda isn’t strong enough to challenge fate. </p><p>“I’ve told you before, don’t say things like that! It can’t be helped that you can’t cure someone as worthless as me.” He’s like a puppet, leaning forward on a whim that isn’t his own. Something electric fills his mind. It spills out his eyes and seeps onto his lips, and it’s awful, really, to be the only one smiling when all Matsuda does is stare. </p><p>“Your brain really is rotting.” </p><p>No one speaks after that. Matsuda because he’s busy notating Nagito’s already endless file, and Nagito because his mind is too fuzzy for conversation. The pitch black of Matsuda’s hair is jarring against the stark white of his jacket. It reminds Nagito of go stones and chess boards and a bigger analogy. One that’s escaping him. </p><p>“Someone will be in for the blood work, soon,” Matsuda informs him. His sharp eyes scan the papers one last time before tapping them roughly on the counter and sliding them back into the folder. There’s a tear on one edge that wasn’t there before. </p><p>They wait. Matsuda taps his foot, checks his watch; scribbles more notes and shoots glances at the door. Nagito wants to tell him he can go because, undoubtedly, he has better things to do than sit here. But that’s something Nagito’s noticed by now; Matsuda never leaves him alone. </p><p>Soon enough, there’s a knock at the door. The woman that steps in is cheerful and familiar. She’s Matsuda’s favorite nurse- the one that always happens to be free for Nagito’s appointments.</p><p>“Hello, Nagito,” She smiles, before extending the same customary greeting to Matsuda. He ignores her. </p><p>“Two vials. Send them to pathology immediately.”</p><p>He rises from his seat, eyes glued to papers in his hands as he checks the information one last time. </p><p>“Of course.” Unease flickers across her face. She glances fleetingly towards Nagito, steels herself, and continues. “And there’s a call waiting for you, Doctor. Ryoko.” </p><p>Now, that piques Nagito’s interest. He doesn’t know this Ryoko, but the nurse looks skittish, and she lowers her voice considerably, so it must be someone important. </p><p>Yes, it has to be someone important with how quickly Matsuda reacts. </p><p>“What the <em>fuck </em>does she want?” </p><p>Nagito’s never seen him like this. Matsuda is absolutely seething, gripping the chart in his hand so tightly it begins to crinkle. It’s the first real emotion he’s shown today, and, selfishly, Nagito’s glad it isn’t directed at him. </p><p>“Take care of this.” He shoves the papers at her, not even bothering to see if she’s grabbed them, and stalks out of the room. The door slams too loudly after him. He hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye. </p><p>The nurse clears her throat, clearly unsure what to say in Matsuda’s defense. Her smile is apologetic. </p><p>“Family business,” she clarifies, “but still, it’s no excuse.” </p><p>Nagito assures her it’s alright. They make benign small talk as she prepares the instruments. Nagito rolls up his sleeve and thinks about what it’d be like if he had family to be mad at. He can’t imagine it, not really, and anyway, he needs to pay more attention to the nurse now. She’s waiting for him to answer something he didn’t hear. </p><p>The blood work is quick, like it always is. He likes it better than the MRI, with its clanging noises and incessant whirring. But like everything else here, Nagito’s gotten used to it. </p><p>He falls asleep halfway through the MRI. When it’s done, they take the headphones off, remove the coils around his neck, help him up gingerly; all the things he’s done a thousand times before. But the tech is new, and he doesn’t know Nagito yet, so he’s impressed with the veteran calmness Nagito carries. </p><p>They- Nagito and the nurse- pass by Matsuda’s office on the way back to the exam room. Angry whispers seep from underneath the door, and just as they round the corner, the muffled sound of glass breaking pierces the air. Matsuda’s nurse hurries along then, reaching a pace Nagito can scarcely keep up with and offers a hasty goodbye as she closes the door behind him. Her footsteps echo down the hallway as she retreats. </p><p>Nagito shucks off the hospital gown and gets dressed quickly. There’s a text from Hajime when he picks up his phone. It’s nothing important, just a picture of the sandwich he’s having for lunch, but it makes Nagito happy to be included in such a meaningless part of Hajime’s day. He feels important for the first time in a while. </p><p>It’s okay that Matsuda was rude today. It’s okay that he’s probably getting worse. It’ll all be okay now, because he has Hajime. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm sorry this took so long to get out! I spent a lot of time fleshing out the rest of the rest of the story as a whole, so that plus my school work kind of delayed everything. I hope you enjoyed this chapter though! As always feel free to leave comments and kudos, they truly make my day whenever I see a new one :) </p><p>Stay safe and remember, you're loved!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So I just wanted to say that we have a bit of a time skip in this chapter. The first part, involving Hajime, takes place right after he gets home from Nagito’s house. Everything after that takes place after Nagito’s doctor’s visit in the last chapter. I wanted to write Hajime’s side of the story after he gets back from seeing Nagito, but I didn’t totally realize how it might seem kind of weird in the story until it was actually written lol. Anyway, enjoy!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“So, did you have to put out?”</p><p>Hajime hasn’t even closed the door behind him yet. His shoes are still on, jacket hanging off one arm, and already Kazuichi’s standing in front of him like an eager puppy.</p><p>“If you didn’t, dumbass here owes me $30,” Fuyuhiko calls from where he’s lounging on the couch.</p><p>So they took bets. Of course they did.</p><p>“I didn’t have to ‘put out’, Kaz,” Hajime groans. “So have fun paying up.”</p><p>He slides the other half of his jacket off, elbowing past Kazuichi to reach the hanger it belongs on. Nagito’s gracious gift weighs down one side of the garment. It’s noticeable, maybe only because Hajime is looking, but he hopes his roommates are too busy bickering to pay it any mind.</p><p>“Did you get paid, at least?”</p><p>Luck is not on Hajime’s side, it seems, as Kazuichi surges uncomfortably fast into his personal space. He squints skeptically right into Hajime’s eyes.</p><p>“I can tell if you’re lying, don’t forget. We’re soul friends,” he says, in a voice that’s clearly meant to be threatening, but only succeeds in sounding congested. He hasn’t even been home five minutes and already Hajime can feel a headache starting.</p><p>“Is that really your business?”</p><p>“Yeah, Souda. Is that really your business?” Fuyuhiko loves mocking Kazuichi. It’s one of his favorite past times, probably. Usually it bothers Hajime,- because inevitably Kazuichi comes complaining to <em>him </em>when Fuyuhiko’s being mean- but today he’s grateful for it. It distracts Kazuichi just enough for Hajime to slip past him and meander into the kitchen.</p><p>There’s nothing in this tiny dorm that can drown out the enraged squawking from the other room. It’s cozy living with two roommates, and undoubtedly the most fun part of college, but for a brief moment Hajime misses the expansive, enveloping quiet of Nagito’s house. Surely Nagito never wakes to the sound of someone else’s alarm, or the panicked screams of someone burning pancake batter. He doesn’t have to worry about studying in the library because someone’s music is too loud, or they’re singing off-key in the shower.</p><p>But then again, Nagito most definitely lives alone and Hajime can’t imagine that’s much fun. Especially at night. It must get lonely sometimes, even though he’s positive Nagito would never admit it. He wonders, too, where Nagito’s parents are. Maybe they travel for work. They must have rather important jobs to afford such a luxurious house, so it’s not too far-fetched to assume they’re off on business most of the time. The thought makes him feel a little better; that Nagito isn’t alone so much as he’s biding time for his parents to return. </p><p>And, oh, he’s yet to text Nagito like he promised he would. Hajime’s not one to go back on his promises, but he doesn’t know what to say exactly. It feels too cliche to write that he had a good time and he hopes they’ll do it again soon. He’d be telling the truth, because he really <em>did </em>have a better time than expected, but it still sounds too fake.</p><p>Then again, maybe it would do Nagito some good to hear that Hajime had fun. He’s so anxious, so wrapped up in his own head sometimes, and it’s completely <em>normal </em>that Hajime wouldn’t want him to feel that way.</p><p>
  <em>Hajime Hinata: Hey, I had a great time today. We should do this again soon! </em>
</p><p>It’s short, sweet, to the point, and kind of cringey if Hajime looks at it too long. He shuts his phone off immediately to save himself the embarrassment. Besides, he’s almost positive that Nagito’s asleep already. It’s only eight, and Hajime himself can’t imagine sleeping at this hour, but Nagito looks like he needs far more rest than he gets. He doesn’t look tired, per say, just delicate and-</p><p>Sickly? That doesn’t seem right either, but Hajime can’t deny that he’s so thin and pale, and his hair is the most unnatural color. Like the hue seeped right out of the strands. They’d been close enough for Hajime to notice the pink ends, and he wonders if Nagito’s hair was brown or red at some point. He tries to imagine it, Nagito with a full head of vibrant auburn hair, and it makes him laugh at how wrong it is. It’s too jarring against his vampiric skin, and it drowns out the haunting depths of his eyes, makes his smile too hollow even in Hajime’s imagination. No, white is the only hair color suited to Nagito Komaeda.</p><p>“What are you smiling about?”</p><p>He’d been so caught up in his daydream that he hadn’t registered the footsteps behind him. The dorm is silent now. No doubt Kazuichi is off pouting somewhere, and inevitably Fuyuhiko has come to find him.</p><p>“Nothing. Just thinking about a joke I heard earlier,” Hajime stutters. He feels oddly defensive all of a sudden. Like he doesn’t want Fuyuhiko to know what he’s really been thinking about. Even though it’s not weird, right?</p><p>“Oh yeah?” Fuyuhiko cocks an eyebrow. “What was the joke?”</p><p>He knows he has Hajime cornered, and Hajime knows it too. Lying, coming up with something on the spot, is a well known weakness of his. It’s better to stay quiet than scramble for some half-cooked response Fuyuhiko won’t believe anyway.</p><p>“You don’t have to lie to me, idiot.” His voice is harsh in the very Fuyuhiko-esque way that means he cares. Hajime’s heard it enough times to know it’s genuine. Still, their tiny kitchen suddenly seems like it’s only a foot wide, and the door is blocked by his roommate’s solid form, so Hajime has no way of getting out.</p><p>“It’s none of your business.”</p><p>Things don’t work with Fuyuhiko like they do Kazuichi, he knows. There’s basically no point in trying, because Fuyuhiko has a way of getting information out of anyone. He’s easily provoked, and he won’t let Hajime go until he has his answers.</p><p>“Yeah, it’s not.” Fuyuhiko shrugs and looks to the side, and it’s not what Hajime was expecting at all. “I just wanted to tell you that Kaz and I have a meeting with the owner of that apartment next week. The one in the city we all liked so much.” He pulls out a paper Hajime didn’t know he was holding and lets it flutter onto the counter. Hajime knows exactly the one he’s talking about without looking.</p><p>“Okay.” He doesn’t have much to say. The implication that Nagito will be funding his share of the expenses hangs heavy in the air. “I still don’t know if I’ll be able to afford it though.”</p><p>“I figured. We just wanted to update you on it, you know. Just in case. Anyway, I promised Peko I’d stop by her dorm so I’ll be gone for the rest of the night.”</p><p>Hajime nods, strangely absorbed in the tiny pictures of shiny, open rooms and sparkly windows. He wants it so badly, to start his life after college with his closest friends, but there’s a nagging feeling deep in the back of his mind that says he’s doing something wrong. He’s never been exceptional, never done anything out of the ordinary. But now that he’s here at twenty-two, watching everyone around him propel themselves into the next stages of their lives, he feels inadequate.</p><p>“Oh, and Hajime?” Fuyuhiko, barely out of the kitchen, turns back. Hajime thought he left a long time ago. “Try not to fall in love. People like him have no interest in something so trivial.”</p><p>-</p><p>Nagito gets a call the next day. He rushes to the hospital immediately, because that’s what Matsuda said to do, and when he’s ushered into the office he’s met with the cold, resigned professionalism Nagito’s only seen once before.</p><p>There’s no light in Matsuda’s eyes when he points out the nauseatingly black rivers snaking through Nagito’s brain. There’s no emotion in his voice when he writes a prescription for a new medication, at the highest dose allowed, and warns that even this might not help. He looks tired, defeated, so Nagito smiles even brighter to let Matsuda know it’s not his fault. He doesn’t blame him.</p><p>Matsuda’s nurse looks at him worriedly, and the palliative care doctor too, but the smile is real for once. He’s been deteriorating all this time, anyway. The hazy days of depression are through, and he knows he’s going to die, so it doesn’t <em>matter </em>anymore. Nagito’s just looking forward to this meeting being over, really, because once he steps outside he’ll have a new text from Hajime, and he can invite him over, and then they’ll spend the day playing video games. It’ll make Nagito feel whole.</p><p>This world- this realm of antiseptics and radioactive dyes and staggeringly awful test results- isn’t important anymore. There’s finally something better.</p><p>-</p><p>Nagito’s bursting out of the door before Hajime’s even parked his car. It should be creepy- clearly Nagito’s been watching for him- but the glowing smile on his face is enough to make Hajime look past it.</p><p>“Hajime, you’re here!”</p><p>His hand is whipping back and forth so violently it’s almost a miracle he doesn’t throw himself off balance. He reminds Hajime of the dog his grandparents had when he was young; a tiny thing that practically vibrated whenever a visitor appeared.</p><p>“What, did you think I wasn’t going to show up?” He calls as he bounds up the steps, and Nagito rushes to meet him before he’s even reached the landing.</p><p>“Of course not. Hajime would never do that.”</p><p>Nagito ushers him through the door, past the coat closet- it’s a surprisingly warm day, so Hajime’s only sporting a light shirt- and eventually into the game room where <em>Twilight Syndrome </em>is already running on the massive tv. They’re holding hands again, Nagito’s thin, ghostly fingers cold against Hajime’s palm. It feels so normal, even though they’ve only done this once before, just barely over a week ago.</p><p>Nagito deposits him on the couch and makes his way towards the tv cabinet, assumedly to retrieve the controller they’ll need. It’s a weirdly bold move- for Nagito, anyway- to assume that Hajime even wants to play video games. He can count on one hand the amount of times Nagito’s made a decision so firmly and without question. Not having to wade through the anxiety and indecision is nice, yes, but Hajime files it away as just another strange occurrence today.</p><p>He hadn’t been expecting a call from Nagito, let alone at eight in the morning. Hajime had learned quickly that Nagito worked on a rather strict schedule. He always asked before he called, always made sure Hajime wasn’t busy with something far more important than him. Nagito’s words, not Hajime’s.</p><p>“Do you want to come over today?” He’d asked, and Hajime knew all his projects and papers couldn’t wait, <em>shouldn’t </em>wait, but Nagito had sounded so lost and forlorn on the phone that he couldn’t say no.</p><p>So to say he hadn’t been expecting this- this chipper, care-free Nagito- was an understatement.</p><p>“I didn’t want to forget!” Nagito bends to retrieve something carefully hidden behind the tv cabinet. Hajime watches as he moves, scanning his body for any signs of tension. There’s no stiff shoulders, no small, flighty movements, but that does little to reassure him. Nagito looks like the kind of person that’s good at hiding things, although the thought makes Hajime feel strangely guilty. He’s never given Hajime a reason to believe that, yet he does all the same.</p><p>“This came the other day and I’ve been so excited to give it to you.”</p><p>Nagito turns back to him with a large gift bag in hand, dressed to the nines with vibrant green tissue paper and a layered, sparkling bow. It catches him off guard and he can feel the blush rising to his cheeks as Nagito deposits it in his lap. He plops himself onto the couch immediately after, so close to Hajime that he can feel the miniscule heat of Nagito’s body.</p><p>He really does look delighted, like he’s the one receiving a gift instead of Hajime. Hajime who, on the other hand, is feeling confused and more than a little embarrassed. It’s awkward not having something for Nagito as well, even though they hadn’t once mentioned gifts.</p><p>Whatever’s inside the bag is heavy. It’s solid, and rectangular, and right away Hajime knows what it is.</p><p>Nagito’s hovering is beginning to feel claustrophobic. He gets the strangest urge to elbow him away, but that would be a new level of rude; and besides, Hajime knows who he’s really annoyed with. Himself, for letting Nagito even entertain the thought of buying him something so expensive, and at Fuyuhiko and Kazuichi for inadvertently getting him into this situation in the first place.</p><p>The tissue paper comes out first. He lets it float lazily to the floor in unorganized piles at their feet. Next is the bow, which Hajime sets aside carefully. He’s seen the not so subtle way Nagito’s been eyeing it, and although Hajime knows he’ll never ask for it, it can’t hurt to keep it intact for him. Hajime will just conveniently forget to take it with him later.</p><p>With nothing else in the way, Hajime has a clear view of the sleek, red and black box nestled at the bottom of the bag. It’s too tall for him to pull out properly, nestled in his lap as it is, so he sets it on the ground amid the tissue paper and pretends not to notice when Nagito pushes even closer to him. He lets out a joyful little squeak as Hajime slides the box free of its confines.</p><p>“You didn’t have to wrap it,” Hajime says lamely, and Nagito’s expression short circuits, face crumpling into something twisted and anxious.</p><p>“I-I know, but I wanted it to be a nice surprise. You seemed so happy talking about it the other day, but-” Nagito wrings his hands nervously, “do you not like it?”</p><p>If Hajime could kick himself right now, he would. Nagito’s curling into himself more and more as he speaks, and his voice trails off weakly at the end of his sentence. It’s so strongly reminiscent of when Nagito handed him the money at the coffee shop. He’s got the same deadened tone, the same lifeless eyes. And just like last time, too, Hajime is the cause of it.</p><p><em>‘Are you going to be a dick every time this guy gives you something?’ </em>He scolds himself. His jaw is clenched tight to match whatever it is that’s squeezing his chest to a pulp. It’s a pain unlike any other; so sharp and blinding that he instinctively knows there’s only one way to fix it.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Nagito.” Hajime sets the box gently on the floor. It’s easier to scoot closer this way, and less cumbersome as he wraps an arm around Nagito’s thin shoulders. He was expecting movement; maybe for Nagito to lean into his embrace, or unfurl his arms from around themselves, but he does neither. “I love it. I really, really do.”</p><p>He should say more, but he’s never been one for words; especially now, when Nagito’s whole mood hangs in the balance. Their call from this morning filters back into his mind, and although he didn’t think it possible, it makes him feel even worse.</p><p>“I’m just-,” Hajime pauses, taking a moment to gather some courage before wrapping his other arm around Nagito and pulling him into a full embrace. “Not really used to getting gifts, I guess. I buy everything that I need myself, and anyway it feels weird that you got me something so expensive and I have nothing for you in return.”</p><p>He can feel the stutter of Nagito’s heart through his chest. It’s strong, stronger than he would’ve imagined, but he doesn’t know whether to chalk it up to good genes or nerves, much like the ones coursing through his own body. Nagito’s still rigid in his arms; he hasn’t even returned the hug.</p><p>“You don’t have to worry about it, Hajime.” Nagito finally replies. His voice is strangely muffled, and the thought that Nagito is <em>crying </em>flashes dreadfully through Hajimes mind before he realizes something.</p><p>Nagito’s not crying at all, but his face is tucked snugly against Hajime’s shoulder, arms pinned to his side. His lips brush delicately over the junction where Hajime’s collar bone meets his neck. The hot puffs of air escaping his mouth slip under Hajime’s shirt, and there’s something so innocently erotic about it that he jolts away from Nagito instantly.</p><p>It doesn’t help, really; he can still feel the phantom warmth of Nagito’s wispy breath against his neck, and the soft flutter of his lips. A tiny thought wriggles forward- that he should’ve pulled Nagito closer instead of pushing him away- but he buries it in the recesses of his mind just as quickly as it appeared. He’s being exceptionally weird, and even though Nagito’s not so normal himself, Hajime can’t imagine him just letting something like this go.</p><p>And he’s right; mostly, anyway. Nagito meets his gaze with a half-guarded expression. He looks like he can’t quite decipher what’s going, for which Hajime can’t really blame him.</p><p>“I’m really excited to play it,” he adds weakly in a final attempt at saving whatever just happened.</p><p>Which must work, because when he finally brings his gaze to meet Nagito’s, he’s bearing a stupidly giddy expression. His hands are clasped high in front of his chest, mouth stretched wide around a full-on grin, and his <em>eyes</em>. They’re so intensely open, in both the physical and metaphorical sense, and suddenly Hajime understands what it means to see someone’s eyes sparkle.</p><p>“Great! I’m so glad, because I bought two. I wasn’t really sure if you’d even <em>want </em>one here, but I figured it couldn’t hurt. I’ll give you my credit card! Buy two copies of whatever games you want, then you can have one to take home with you and one for here-”</p><p>Nagito cuts himself off as he fishes desperately in his pocket for the card. He brandishes it triumphantly moments later. It’s pale green, with a whimsical, cutesy design featuring a sleeping puppy; nothing like the sophisticated black metal Hajime had been expecting.</p><p>Not that it matters, though, because he refuses to take Nagito’s credit card. Even if it is a little tempting.</p><p>“No, I-I can’t let you do that, Nagito,” Hajime starts, but it’s futile as Nagito shushes him rather loudly and grabs for his hand to force the card into. His fingers are surprisingly strong for someone so frail.</p><p>“But Haji<em>me</em>, you have to! How can I buy you a console and then expect you to pay for your own games? For my gift?” Again, he drags out the last syllable of Hajime’s name exactly like he had in the coat closet. It’s whiny, and pouting, and Hajime might like it.</p><p>“But I didn’t- I mean, Nagito you don’t <em>have </em>to. It’s not like I asked-”</p><p>Which is the wrong thing to say, even if he was gracefully cut off. Hajime’s figuring that out by now.</p><p>Nagito freezes instantly, one hand poised halfway to grabbing Hajime’s tightly clenched fist. “Oh! I see. It really was presumptuous of me to assume you’d want to play anything here. I’m awful at games, as we found out, so it makes sense that you’d rather play in your dorm, with your friends. Or even alone! Alone is still better than with me.”</p><p>And then he giggles. Not the pretty, ringing giggle that fits his voice so well, but the distant, boxed one that reminds Hajime of secrets and thinly veiled demons. It’s the kind of noise that’s been practiced too many times to sound authentic, and Hajime hates it. But the worst part of it all is the haphazard smile plastered across Nagito’s face, like the one in his profile picture; a man-made thing that stretches his mouth too far, yet still looks so hauntingly beautiful.</p><p>“No, no, please don’t be upset. I feel bad making you spend more money is all.”</p><p>Hajime can’t really remember the last time he was so patient with someone. He prides himself on his low tolerance for repetition; it gets things done efficiently, cuts down on unneeded effort, and saves him from the rest of the blathering idiots that never listen. Which is what makes it so strange when he realizes he can’t imagine snapping at Nagito for all the times he’s said this before. He can’t imagine telling Nagito to just <em>shut up </em>like he would to so many others.</p><p>“Hajime, you’re so strange.” Nagito doesn’t elaborate on his statement, and Hajime’s not sure he wants him to, so they settle into the slightly awkward routine of staring quietly at each other.</p><p>In the silence, it’s hard to ignore the eerie music spilling from the tv. Hajime had quite honestly forgotten all about <em>Twilight Syndrome, </em>still patiently stuck on the title screen. The looping melody is already grating on his nerves. Nagito, however, looks entirely unbothered by it; he’s still gazing intently at Hajime.</p><p>It’s strange to have someone stare so openly at him, but there’s something cloudy behind Nagito’s eyes that gives Hajime the feeling he’s being looked through rather than looked at. Almost like Nagito’s assessing something; although what it could be, Hajime has no idea.</p><p>“Do you want to play, then?” Hajime asks after a minute, because Nagito has yet to offer up any suggestions and he’s getting tired of the lull. He gestures vaguely towards the tv, and it’s enough to snap Nagito out of his stupor.</p><p>“Of course, Hajime.”</p><p>A gentle smile- so unlike the one from before, and so much better suited to him- falls over Nagito’s face as he uncurls himself from the couch and returns to the cabinet to retrieve the controller. They only need one, so he pauses for a moment to contemplate which to choose. There’s eight in total, lined up neatly in individual holders, even though the console can only handle four. He’d gotten them because someone asked- someone Nagito refuses to name. Probably the same person he bought the console for, Hajime figures, and it makes him feel grossly fluttery to think that Nagito bought someone else things, doted on them endlessly, and they’re no longer here.</p><p>But, he supposes, it’s presumptuous to assume they’re actually gone; and somehow that makes him feel even worse.</p><p>“Hajime,” Nagito calls over his shoulder, “which color do you want?”</p><p>He wants to tell Nagito that it doesn’t matter. He’ll use the obnoxiously bright purple one if it’ll hurry him along. The title screen music is burrowing a hole into his eardrums, and he wants so badly to tell Nagito to just <em>hurry up and pick something already</em>; but he doesn’t, because he knows the unease that will sweep across Nagito’s face and how much he never wants to see that expression again.</p><p>Instead, he grits his teeth into a passable smile and replies, “green is fine,” because it’s the closest controller to Nagito’s hand, and thus the quickest way to end his torment.</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>Nagito saunters happily back to the couch, and in that time Hajime comes to the very obvious realization that Nagito had to boot the game up with <em>something. </em>It makes the lack of a controller somewhat suspicious, but also strangely endearing; like Nagito wanted to offer him a chance to pick the one he liked best without having to ask outright. He’s weird- quirky- but undeniably thoughtful.</p><p>There’s a slight dip as Nagito settles back into his spot at the crook of the couch. He can’t be more than three feet away, but the distance feels endless compared to his previous hovering. Hajime doesn’t like it.</p><p>“Why don’t you come closer? Maybe you can try playing again.”</p><p>“Hajime you don’t want that. Who will solve the mysteries if I’m controlling everything?”</p><p>Pale fingers clutch the controller imperceptibly tighter, and although he’s joking- face relaxed around a genuine smile and a tiny laugh- it’s near impossible to miss the way Nagito’s eyes flutter down to the spot beside Hajime. Like he wants to move over, but at the same time afraid he won’t be welcome.</p><p>“I’ve played this game before. I think I can handle it.”</p><p>He doesn’t mention how he could play this game with his eyes closed, how the only reason he doesn’t mind sitting through the thing again is because Nagito seems to enjoy it so much. There’s no way Hajime could tell him that; Nagito, who’s already so skittish and who took so long to be convinced that Hajime wasn’t perpetually bored in his presence.</p><p>Nagito’s eyes shift back and forth a few more times. Hajime can almost see his brain working furiously to decide what to do, so he takes pity on him and stretches out a hand invitingly.</p><p>“Please?”</p><p>Maybe it’s a cruel trick, because certainly Nagito won’t say no now, but Hajime shoves it to the back of his mind because it <em>works</em>and soon enough Nagito is scooting trepidatiously closer and closer. He stops about a foot away to look straight into Hajime’s soul.</p><p>“Okay,” Nagito says firmly, and makes to hand the controller to Hajime.</p><p>“How are you supposed to play without that?” He jokes, and gently pushes away the proffered object. Nagito blushes, a deep cherry color, and ducks his head in embarrassment.</p><p>“See? I’m already off to a bad start.”</p><p>“No, you just need a little help is all.” Hajime feels intensely cheesy saying something like that, but he means it wholeheartedly. He raises his hands to meet Nagito’s, gives him a questioning look that’s returned with shy consent, and gently wraps his fingers overtop Nagito’s. “Just listen, I’ll show you what everything does.”</p><p>Nagito is staring at him, he can feel it, and it’s quite a feat to keep his mind focused on the buttons before him. The searing heat of a blush is rising up his neck, and he hopes futilely that his skin isn’t turning as red as it seems. He hopes even more that Nagito won’t notice it, but with how close they are and how intensely his gaze is focused, that’s almost impossible as well.</p><p>“Hajime’s such a good teacher,” Nagito whispers. The words stop Hajime cold, just as he’s about to explain the running mechanics.</p><p>“I’ve played this game enough to know it by heart,” he offers back just as softly. “And, uh, a ton of other games as well. It’s a fun pastime.”</p><p>He feels almost embarrassed admitting that. It’s few and far between that he finds someone truly impressed by his ability to stay glued to a television screen for hours on end, and even though it’s acceptable by all rights, he still can’t shake the feeling that it’s a waste of time.</p><p>“It’s so inspiring that Hajime has so many favorite things. Helping people, and playing games. You truly are amazing.”</p><p>Neither of those things sound particularly amazing to Hajime, but he nods along anyway and that seems to placate Nagito. Hearing those things stroke his ego somewhat, if he’s being honest, but it makes him feel a little despondent too; like Nagito’s compliments are born from a lack of experience rather than genuine admiration. Imagining Nagito growing up in this house is hard. There’s so many rooms, but they all seem somewhat impersonal; untouched. It makes it difficult to picture a young Nagito sitting at the kitchen table, homework papers spread all around him. Or in the living room, trying out new hobbies on a warm Saturday afternoon. Even worse, Hajime wonders if he was all alone like he is now or if his parents were more present.</p><p>“You really think so, huh?”</p><p>Nagito nods, billowy strands of hair brushing against Hajime’s cheek at the movement. His fingers tremble slightly.</p><p>“I wouldn’t lie about something like that.”</p><p>The thing is, Hajime’s not one to believe words; he knows better than anyone how meaningless they can be. But Nagito’s voice is so raw, so unadulteratedly candid, that Hajime has a hard time doubting him.</p><p>“Yeah, you wouldn’t,” Hajime replies fondly, and really, he doesn’t know Nagito well enough to be agreeing; yet somewhere, someplace, he knows it’s true.</p><p>If he thinks too hard on it, Hajime realizes how quickly things have progressed; how he’s gone from begrudgingly creating a profile, to meeting Nagito, to being in his home all well within two months. Had Kazuichi or Fuyuhiko told him this was going to happen, he would’ve laughed them off. Making a friend was never part of the plan, only getting enough money to support life after graduation, and hopefully without doing anything too weird in the process. But now, when he looks at Nagito- so soft and content beside him- he can’t imagine things going any differently. Nor can he imagine what would have happened had Nagito found someone else, and strangely he almost feels angry when he briefly considers someone taking advantage of Nagito’s kindness.</p><p>“Hajime-”</p><p>He jolts at his name, ripped violently from his own mind, and realizes with a start that Nagito’s pulling his hands away. Or trying to, anyway. He’s making small, jerky movements that aren’t doing very much.</p><p>“You’re hurting me,” he whines; to which Hajime looks down in horror and realizes his fingers are gripping unrelentingly onto the controller beneath them. With Nagito’s trapped in the middle.</p><p>Hajime makes the most undignified squawk and drops the controller like it’s burned him. It rolls out of Nagito’s lax grip and lands between them.</p><p>“Were you thinking about how bad I would be, Hajime?” Nagito blinks up at him. “I told you it would be better if you played.”</p><p>“No! I wasn’t-uh, it was nothing like that. Are you okay?” Hajime gathers Nagito’s hand in his palm. The middles of his fingers are slightly red.</p><p>“It’s nothing to worry about, Hajime. As long as you’re okay.”</p><p>Nagito’s convoluted. He’s hard to read, and flighty, and his sincere lack of care for himself has been bothering Hajime. They need to address it, but he’s not ready to open <em>that </em>discussion. Especially because he knows Nagito will ask again what he was thinking about.</p><p>“I’m fine. And if you’re fine, how about we play, hm?” He scoops the controller off the couch and places it delicately back in Nagito’s palm. “I think I taught you enough for now.”</p><p>Nagito nods, just as Hajime thought he would. His fingers flex around the controller until he’s gripping it naturally.</p><p>“I hope they make it more challenging this time,” Nagito comments as he maneuvers through to their save file. “It’s not that much fun to solve everything halfway through.”</p><p>Hajime snickers. “If it’s too easy for you I’ll change the difficulty setting, okay?” He smiles at the enthusiastic nod he receives and settles back into the couch. Nagito does the same, and it makes him happy. Things seem so much calmer, so much more natural between them than they had during their first meeting. It’s to be expected, of course, but Hajime thinks he could get used to this; lounging about, close enough to brush arms accidentally, and bantering like the world exists only in one room.</p><p>So they settle into a groove. Nagito tilts the controller expectantly towards Hajime whenever he has a question, and Hajime responds with the kind of gentle patience he’s never thought possible.</p><p>And if Nagito’s head comes to rest against Hajime’s shoulder eventually, well, no one’s there to see it anyway.</p><p>-</p><p>Hajime’s alarm sounds at five on the dot. It’s a screeching, high-pitched thing that makes Nagito flinch, and he instantly regrets setting it so loud. He fumbles to silence it as quickly as he can, but it’s already succeeded in ruining whatever feeble mood had filled the room.</p><p>“Do you have to go?” Nagito’s voice comes out thin and fluttery. He’s no longer leaning against Hajime, instead choosing to pin him with a look too convoluted to decipher.</p><p>“I don’t <em>have </em>to,” he replies hesitantly. Which is true; he doesn’t have to. But he <em>should</em>, because he can perfectly envision the half-finished essay sitting forgotten in his backpack on the floor of his car, and as much as he doesn’t want to leave Nagito’s house, he doesn’t want to stay up all night finishing the thing even more. “But I have work to do, and I don’t know how I’m going to finish it for tomorrow if I don’t. You know…”</p><p>He lets the sentence trail off awkwardly, throwing a hand up to rub at the back of his neck as he dips his gaze downward in an attempt to avoid looking at Nagito’s face. Hajime knows he’ll cave the second he sees whatever expression Nagito’s wearing and agree to stay as long as Nagito wants.</p><p>“I have an office you can use. If you want.”</p><p>The words aren’t spoken in the halting, unsure tone Hajime’s grown used to in situations like this. Nagito sounds happy, actually; like he’s solved a great dilemma. Which he has, in a way. Hajime has all the materials in his car already, so it makes sense to take him up on the offer. </p><p>“You don’t mind me doing work here?” He questions cautiously, “it won’t be very entertaining for you. I can’t talk while I’m concentrating.”</p><p>It feels necessary to add that part; maybe because he’s slightly afraid Nagito will invite himself to watch Hajime while he works, and he knows that would most definitely prevent him from getting anything done. And maybe also because he doesn’t want Nagito to be sad when Hajime locks himself away in the office for a solid few hours.</p><p>“Why would I mind? It benefits both of us, doesn’t it? You get your work done, and stay here longer too.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, Nagito’s eyes go comically wide.</p><p>“But that’s clearly selfish of me,” he quickly backtracks. “You shouldn’t stay here just because I want you to.”</p><p>Hajime hates the nervous look that sweeps his face. Nagito looks like he’s waiting to be chewed out for having the <em>audacity </em>to vocalize his wishes. His whole body stiffens, arms especially rigid at his sides, and the fingers of his left hand tap unsteady rhythms on the cushion beside him. Deep down,- or maybe not so deep- Hajime blames himself. They would’ve still been curled up on the couch, enjoying <em>Twilight Syndrome </em>together, if not for his inability to finish his work.</p><p>“Well, your house is much nicer than my dorm,” Hajime tries to remedy. And then, because Nagito looks so distressed, “I’d rather spend the rest of the day with you, anyway. I think there’s some party tonight that my roommates want to drag me to, but I’m just not in the mood.”</p><p>Which is true- probably. Between Peko’s rambunctious roommate, and Kazuichi’s uncanny ability to sniff out Sonia’s every move, hardly a weekend passes when Hajime isn’t invited to some party or another. They’re alright in moderation, but he’s long since outgrown the weekend blackouts and early morning bedtimes so expected of college students. Kazuichi likes to call it their last stand before adulthood, and Fuyuhiko always has Peko to slip away with at the end of the night, but Hajime would rather focus on the daunting future hanging over his head. And also, maybe, he’d enjoy the soft serenity of Nagito’s company.</p><p>“I don’t think you really mean that,” Nagito pouts. He brings a hand up to swat at the hair falling into his eyes; a childish gesture that makes Hajime’s heart ache for something domestic he can’t seem to name.</p><p>“You said you wouldn’t lie to me, so why would I lie to you?” Hajime chides. “My things are in my car so I’ll just get them quick and be right back.”</p><p>They both stand from the couch simultaneously, albeit more relaxed on Hajime’s part. Nagito practically leaps from his seat, beaming.</p><p>“Okay, Hajime! I’ll get the office ready, then.” He makes a beeline for a door just barely visible down the hall, not once looking back. There’s a distinct, echoing <em>click</em> as Nagito slips through it, and with him gone, Hajime suddenly realizes how much his presence fills the room. Everything is silent now- no raspy breathing or shuffling of clothing, no idle chatter or floating, breathy giggles.</p><p>The thought continues all the way to his car and all the way back, where he’s greeted by Nagito holding an armful of papers as he makes his way through the sitting room. Nagito looks like he’s rushing. His face is slightly red with exertion, and when he sees Hajime round the corner he clutches everything to his chest protectively.</p><p>“Hajime!” He exclaims, voice just a touch higher than normal. “I just need to put these in my room and then I’ll be back. You know where the office is, go right in!”</p><p>Then he’s rushing right past, nearly bumping into the wall as he dashes towards the foyer. Hajime watches him disappear around the corner and can’t help the questions tingling in his mind. Whatever Nagito’s holding must be important- otherwise he wouldn’t be rushing out of the room. And it’s no business of Hajime’s, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to know what they’re about.</p><p>Short of asking Nagito, there’s nothing he can do about it, though. So he shrugs to himself and meanders towards the door Nagito’s left slightly ajar. Long, cream colored curtains are visible through the crack. They frame a wall of windows identical to the ones in Nagito’s sunroom.</p><p>It’s a rather nice space, Hajime thinks as he walks in; just like the rest of the house. Everything is subdued, from the dark bookshelves lining the walls to the intricate, antique bronze and marble desk sitting right in the middle. It looks old and very, very expensive; juxtaposed entirely by the modern, equally expensive computer sat atop it. Hajime’s laptop pales in comparison despite being well over a thousand dollars.</p><p>He settles his bag delicately on the floor beside the desk and makes himself comfortable in the chair. It’s much cozier than he would’ve imagined, considering it’s high, straight back and minimal cushioning. He rolls his shoulders and stretches a little as he waits for the laptop to boot up. Working in someone else’s space is always slightly awkward at first.</p><p>“There’s a white noise machine on the shelf if you’d prefer that on.”</p><p>Apparently Nagito’s slipped into the room- something Hajime hadn’t noticed until the boy started speaking.</p><p>“Oh, um, no. I’m good. But thanks.”</p><p>“Alright.” Nagito shrugs good naturedly. He still looks slightly unwell, all flushed like he’s been running. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Please let me know if you need anything.”</p><p>Hajime nods in confirmation, but Nagito’s already turned to scurry away. He shuts the door gently behind Hajime, and then it’s only him and the gentle whirring of his laptop to keep him company. The unfinished document he’d left up on his screen flashes to life before him and Hajime groans.</p><p>-</p><p>A solid four hours later, Hajime types the last word. He slams his laptop shut in jubilee and leans against the chair’s backrest to stretch his stiff joints. The sky has long since darkened, a testament to just how long he’s been working. He turns his attention to his phone, which has been face down the entire time. Nine text messages, all from his group chat with Kazuichi and Fuyuhiko, greet him.</p><p>
  <em>Soul friend: Where are you?? </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Soul friend: You know we’re supposed to go to Mioda’s tonight</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Soul friend: Gundham’s away this weekend so Miss Sonia will finally give me a chance! You have to be my wingman! </em>
</p><p>Kazuichi’s never been one to fear double texting; a fact made evident by the ensuing thread of conversation between him and Fuyuhiko.</p><p>
  <em>Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu: Yeah Hajime, you wouldn’t want to miss him getting rejected for the seventh time this month</em>
</p><p>He laughs at that one, even if it is a rather overplayed joke, before choosing to ignore the rest of the texts.</p><p>
  <em>Hajime Hinata: I won’t be making it tonight, sorry guys</em>
</p><p>Just as he expected, the answers are instantaneous. The first text is an illegible string of emojis from Kazuichi that he takes to mean disappointment, followed by a much more literate response from Fuyuhiko.</p><p>
  <em>Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu: Okay man, don’t forget the condoms </em>
</p><p>Hajime can practically hear him laughing. He doesn’t reply to either; they both know where he is, and he doesn’t feel like spending the next ten minutes fending off their poorly crafted sex jokes. And it’s more important that he find Nagito, who’s been up to who knows what the entire time Hajime’s been chipping away at his essay. So he packs up his things, tries his best to return everything to it’s exact place, and focuses on pinpointing where Nagito might be.</p><p>He doesn’t have to look far, it turns out. The tinny sound of voices floats out of the game room, and seeing as there’s no one else around at this hour, it’s only logical that he would find Nagito there.</p><p>“Nagito?” He’s learned rather quickly, in a variety of ways, how skittish Nagito can be, so he calls to him as he strides towards the doorway</p><p>“Oh! You’re done!”</p><p>Nagito’s sitting ram-rod straight on the couch. His feet are positioned perfectly on the ground, hands in his lap. It stops Hajime dead in his tracks as his mind furiously tries to compute just what could’ve happened to make him look so nervous.</p><p>“Nagito are you-”</p><p>“It’s late, isn’t it?” Nagito stands, and he’s <em>shaking; </em>Hajime can see the tremors all through his body. His voice wavers too much, cracks once on the last syllable and dwindles out entirely. He swallows.</p><p>“It’s late, isn’t it?” Nagito starts again. “So would you want to sleep over?"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Like always, I want to thank you all for your lovely comments, kudos, and bookmarks! It makes me so genuinely happy to hear what you all think about the story!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So this chapter is technically in two parts, because I went too hard with this one and it would've ended up being about twice the length it is now if I included all of my original ideas. Which would've been fine, but it would've taken me another few weeks to get the rest of it out. So I figured I'd upload it like this instead! :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“So, would you want to sleep over?”</p>
<p>Standing was a poor choice. Nagito wouldn’t be surprised if his legs gave out with how violently they’re shaking. He hopes Hajime can’t see; but if he can, he’s at least had the decency not to comment on it.</p>
<p>“Tonight?” Hajime replies, and Nagito knows he’s been working hard for the past few hours, but can his mind really be that shot?</p>
<p>“Yes?”</p>
<p>Hajime shifts his feet. “I don’t see why not. Although, I don’t have anything with me-”</p>
<p>“I can give you whatever you need. Don’t worry about it, Hajime! I have pajamas, and a toothbrush, and you can pick whichever room you want to stay in, so please don’t be concerned.” Nagito doesn’t give him a chance to finish. He’s too distressed that Hajime will decline his offer, and although it’s too much for him to wish that Hajime <em>actually </em>says yes, Nagito still wants to hope that he will.</p>
<p>“Then yeah, I guess,” Hajime pauses to worry at his bottom lip with his teeth. “Yeah, sounds good to me.”</p>
<p>Really, Nagito doesn’t remember the last time he was so relieved. All the anxiety leaves his body instantly, draining his strength as it goes, and he finds himself desperately seeking the security of the couch behind him. Relief that he hadn’t fallen and made an absolute fool of himself, that Hajime actually agreed to his far-fetched, last-minute plan, leaves him feeling giddy.</p>
<p>“My first sleepover! I’m so lucky.” He falls sideways on the couch and throws his arms over his head like he’s at the peak of a roller coaster. “You’re my first time, Hajime.”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>Hajime doesn’t look <em>appalled, </em>per se, just very surprised. His right hand clutches the strap of his backpack fervently as his face contorts into something akin to a deer in the headlights. It’s disheartening, but nothing Nagito hadn’t expected.</p>
<p>“Did I say something wrong?”</p>
<p>Nagito wasn’t very good at social cues. It was a fact he knew well enough from both Junko’s insistent reminders and his own observations. People tended to dislike the things he said or the way he acted. He was always the last option at parties,- on the rare occurrence that he actually attended one- which had been hurtful until he realized everything was better off if he didn’t butt in. There were less awkward pauses, less shuffling of feet as people reconvened further away from him, if he stayed silent in the background and simply observed. It wasn’t the most fun option, but everyone else had a better time; and besides, it helped him learn the right things to say and the right times to say them.</p>
<p>“N-no, I just,” Hajime’s adam's apple bobs as he swallows thickly, “it’s really your first sleepover?”</p>
<p>“Yes.” Nagito nods enthusiastically. He’s still sprawled out on the couch, and the noise his hair makes as it shifts against the fabric bothers his ears. “Is that really such a surprise, Hajime?”</p>
<p>Hajime doesn’t say yes right away. He doesn’t say yes at all, actually, and it’s surprisingly sweet how valiantly he’s trying to skirt around an answer. Nagito knows the truth, though; he doesn’t need to be protected.</p>
<p>“You can say it, you know. I won’t be offended.” Nagito flashes a saccharine smile. He rolls onto his elbows to face Hajime, pinning him in place with his eyes as if that will force out the answer he wants to hear.</p>
<p>Except Hajime only shuffles his feet awkwardly, and for a brief, horrific moment Nagito thinks he might be scaring him.</p>
<p>“Plenty of people never have sleepovers. It’s not anything strange.”</p>
<p>“Oh.”</p>
<p>“Yeah.” His eyes focus vehemently on the ground in front of him. “Guess I really have an excuse not to go to that party now, huh?”</p>
<p>Nothing about Hajime’s tone suggests that he’s mad, but it does nothing to stop the guilt that lances through Nagito when he realizes that he’s keeping Hajime from his friends. College parties seemed so important- at least from what Nagito had gathered from movies. Who was he to deprive Hajime of that? To take him away from his friends, and the fun, and the opportunity to act like nothing in the world mattered. It was selfish.</p>
<p>Everything about this was selfish, Nagito knew.</p>
<p>“Don’t let me stop you if you’d rather go to the party.” Nagito replies with a rather convincing act. Convincing to him, at least. The delicate smile, the curious tilt of his head; he’s practiced it so many times it’s almost second nature by now.</p>
<p>“Didn’t I already tell you I don’t want to go?” Hajime shoots him a rather perturbed look. “It’s more fun here with you.”</p>
<p>He says it so casually; like he doesn’t know the impact those six simple words have on Nagito. How long has it been since someone’s said that about him?</p>
<p>“You don’t mean that, Hajime.” Nagito counters. It’s second nature by now to reject whatever modicum of a compliment is directed his way. Such occurrences don’t happen often, and he doesn’t like to dwell when they do. “What fun could I possibly be compared to all your classmates? They’re the future of our world! You should spend as much time as possible with them.”</p>
<p>It’s a compelling argument, at least in Nagito’s opinion. Afterall, he has nothing of <em>value </em>to offer the world. Only a withering body, a grand fortune, and an ostentatious mansion; all of which will be forgotten when he dies.</p>
<p>Which is a harsh thought, but he’s been trying to grow more accustomed to it. Reality, and all that.</p>
<p>“Can I put this somewhere?” Hajime doesn’t acknowledge his comment, just swings his backpack around on one hand and holds it out expectantly.</p>
<p>Nagito blinks owlishly at him. “Of course. Please, do whatever you like here. It’s as much your house as mine.”</p>
<p>Junko always likes it when he tells her that; not that she needs it to make her feel at home. Hajime, however, doesn’t appear to share the same sentiment. His eyes widen just enough for Nagito to notice and the corners of his mouth twitch like he’s trying not to let them move. He can’t control the way his eyebrows pull together, though, and they tell Nagito more than enough. He’s said something stupid, again.</p>
<p>It’s really difficult, this friendship thing.</p>
<p>“I doubt that, Nagito.” Hajime’s tone is dry, and he looks entirely unenthused. His backpack falls to the floor with a solid thud as he releases his grip on the strap.</p>
<p>“Why’d you-” A soft gasp of surprise cuts through Nagito’s question. There’s a laptop inside that bag, he’s certain of it; and he may not know much, but he’s fairly sure they aren’t meant to be dropped like that.</p>
<p>And then, because Nagito’s mind can never leave him in peace, he has a thought. Hajime just wants him to buy a new one. That’s the only reason he’s here; the only reason he’s ever been here.</p>
<p>“You didn’t give me a real answer. So I’ll just leave it right there.”</p>
<p>He meets Nagito’s gaze with a challenge in his eyes. Clearly, he expects some kind of rebuttal, but Nagito’s focus is long past backpacks and possibly cracked computers.</p>
<p>“Does that bother you?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“Are you serious?”</p>
<p>The indignation in Hajime’s voice would be insulting to anyone else, surely. But Nagito isn’t anyone else, and he’s telling the truth regardless. Normally he hates a mess, but somehow it’s almost nice; domestic in a way Nagito never felt he’d deserved.</p>
<p>He nods meekly in response to Hajime’s question. The whole thing is beginning to get a little confusing, and he’s already blundered enough conversations today. Staying silent seems more reasonable.</p>
<p>There’s a moment of awkward eye contact before Hajime shifts his gaze to the floor and sighs. He grabs for the backpack strap right after, letting it dangle just above the floor as he makes his way over to the couch. It makes the same solid thump when he deposits it beside an end table. Simultaneously, he throws himself onto the couch and crosses his arms with a pout. </p>
<p>“I can’t really leave it there. You’ll probably trip over it or something,” he grumbles. Nagito laughs, clear and bright, at how closely Hajime resembles a child.</p>
<p>“Is that how you’ll treat your patients?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah, but only if they’re as insufferable as you.” Hajime gives him a lopsided smile, one that lights up his eyes, and the sinking fear that had flashed up within him- that Hajime had realized just how truly <em>awful </em>he is- was gone.</p>
<p>“I thought you were being serious, Hajime,” Nagito laughs. “It wouldn’t be so unexpected for you to actually think that of me.”</p>
<p>It’s a joke. Or maybe deep down it’s not, but he wanted to show Hajime he was capable of humor too. Except Hajime isn’t laughing, and his smile is gone, so it must not have landed well.</p>
<p>“Why would I say something like that to you? And wait, why would you <em>assume </em>I would say something like that about you?”</p>
<p>It’s a hard question to answer; mostly because it’s one no one had ever asked before. He has infinitely more reasons why Hajime <em>would</em> say that to him than why he wouldn’t. The silence must give him away, because suddenly Hajime’s looking at him with that melted-candy gaze; the one that’s poisonously sweet and so full of pity<em>- </em>just like the doctors give him. He hates it.</p>
<p>A knot forms in his stomach. Hajime leans back against the couch and stretches like a cat.</p>
<p>“So. What are we having for dinner?”</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>They order a pizza that makes Nagito feel sick, but he takes a slice because Hajime insists, and it feels nice to have someone care whether or not he eats. He gets scolded when he makes to lead them back to the game room. It’s too greasy to eat on a couch, Hajime says, even after Nagito insists he wouldn’t mind buying a new one. So they eat in the dining room because there’s no room in the kitchen, and it’s the first time in years that Nagito doesn’t feel small and lonely at that monstrous table.</p>
<p>“This is good,” Hajime says around a mouthful of bacon and cheese. “Not as good as this place by campus, though. I’m telling you; they make the best pizza I’ve ever had. I’ll have to take you sometime.”</p>
<p>“I’m honored you’d want to share that with me.” Nagito’s voice is shy and muffled; mostly because he’s busy staring intently at his plate, hoping his hair will cover the blush he feels coming on. The sentiment is true, though. He really is honored, because Hajime is so kind and so friendly, and maybe he really does like spending time with Nagito.</p>
<p>“It’s what friends do,” Hajime reminds him. There’s a stern tilt to his words, but something fond, too. No annoyance like there is whenever anyone else tells him something he should already know.</p>
<p>All Nagito can do is hum in acknowledgement and force a miniscule bite of his pizza slice. It’s too hot in his mouth and it hurts sliding down his throat, but he feels less nauseous afterwards. Whether it’s because of the food or Hajime’s compliment is up for debate.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They don’t say much after that, because Hajime is busy wolfing down slice after slice like he’s never eaten in his life, and Nagito is too distracted by the cozy <em>something</em> that’s filling the room to make any attempt at conversation. Back when they were still alive, his parents would host extravagant parties in this very room. All the important people would be there; politicians and high-ranking businessmen, charity leaders and philanthropists, all with pockets just as deep as his parents. The Komaeda name had had quite the pull, once upon a time.</p>
<p>Nagito had never quite felt welcome, though; children had no place at such gatherings. He was a museum piece, something pretty to be ogled at, and nothing more. The nanny- a woman whose name he no longer remembered- would track him dutifully around the room and remind him when he was being too impudent. She’d tried to mold him into the perfect boy, but he’d been clingy, and the suits his mother made him wear itched, and he always fell asleep before dessert.</p>
<p>So, he’d never liked the parties much. And because of that, he’d developed quite the aversion to the opulent dining room they’d been held in. Even full to the brim with people it had felt cold and uninviting. But now, with just himself and Hajime, it was lively and welcoming. Peaceful, even. It felt like home in a way it hadn’t in so many years.</p>
<p>“Are you going to have more?”</p>
<p>Hajime’s hands are on the pizza box, one propping the lid up while the other hovers above a slice. There’s a full box underneath this one, because Nagito had no idea how much to order, and so had bought three different varieties even when Hajime insisted two were fine. Nagito can see a spot of grease soaking through the cardboard of the bottom box. It’ll ruin the finish on the table if he lets it sit much longer, but he doesn’t quite care.</p>
<p>“Maybe later. I think I’m full for now.” He keeps his eyes trained straight at Hajime in the hopes he won’t notice the pathetically small portion he’s eaten. He’d taken one slice to Hajime’s four and had only managed to finish about half of it in the same amount of time.</p>
<p>“You should eat more than that,” Hajime points out. “I’ve been here all day and that’s the first thing I’ve seen you touch.”</p>
<p>Which is true, but all Nagito can hear is that Hajime’s been here all day too, and he hadn’t even had the good sense to feed his guest.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, Hajime.” Nagito’s ashamed to admit that he really just <em>forgot</em>. It’s a horrible feeling that makes his stomach drop and his heart sink into his shoes. “Is that why you ate so much? Because I didn’t give you any lunch and you were hungry?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No? We were talking about you,” he grumbles, and Nagito can see the red dusting his cheeks even when Hajime turns his head to hide it. “Don’t sound so upset. I would’ve told you if I was hungry.”</p>
<p>“I’m a bad host.”</p>
<p>The noise Hajime makes is something close to a growl. He pinches the edge of Nagito’s plate and pushes it closer to him.</p>
<p>“Shut up. Eat.” And then, because that must’ve been rough by Hajime’s standards, “you’re not a bad host. I’m having a good time.”</p>
<p>Nagito paws at his pizza, shrugs a little, and decides that uneasy feeling is back in his stomach. It would be unbelievably embarrassing if he was sick right here.</p>
<p>“Do you not like it?”</p>
<p>It’s an unexpected question, and when he forces himself to meet Hajime’s gaze, he’s looking into the eyes of someone deeply concerned. He doesn’t quite know what to say, because he knows Hajime’s referring to the pizza, but there’s too many things about this moment that he doesn’t like. The greasiness of his fingers, the uncomfortable way Hajime’s staring at him, and, oh yes, the fact that he had completely forgotten something as simple as lunch.</p>
<p>“What do you eat normally?”</p>
<p>“Is this the therapist in you coming out?” Nagito’s good at deflecting, but he feels bad when he sees the way Hajime’s shoulders drop just a little.</p>
<p>“Is it so insane to think I might actually be concerned about you?”</p>
<p>‘<em>Yes,’ </em>Nagito thinks. ‘<em>No one’s concerned about someone like me.’ </em>But deep down he knows Hajime won’t accept that answer; and he’s trying so hard that Nagito can return the favor and try a little himself.</p>
<p>“I can take care of myself.”</p>
<p>The words are harsh, so he answers hesitantly to soften their edges. He doesn’t want Hajime to think he’s being petulant, but he doesn’t want questions, either. Conversations like that are always awkward, when he explains the plane crash and lack of a childhood. When the subsequent pitying looks and sympathy-soaked words emerge.</p>
<p>He doesn’t want them from Hajime.</p>
<p>“Clearly not very well,” Hajime scoffs. “Guess that’s why you need so many people around, huh?”</p>
<p>He’s joking. Nagito knows he is, but it still rubs him the wrong way. The maids, the gardeners, the cooks- they’ve taken care of Nagito since the day after the funeral. Since the day he came home alone. And they’re <em>still </em>here because he gets out of breath when he cleans for too long, and he never learned how to cook very well, and he can’t tend to the flowers in the sun for more than half an hour at a time. He’s pathetic, everything about him is a joke, and he doesn’t want Hajime to see it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hey, did I say something wrong?” The overly concerned tone is seeping into Hajime’s voice again, and it’s only then that Nagito feels how tightly his shoulders are bunched. He’s curled in on himself so much so that his chin is practically to his chest. There’s a twinge in his neck when he straightens out again.</p>
<p>“Please don’t worry about it,” he replies with a smile that’s nowhere near the intensity of Hajime’s distress. “You don’t have to worry about offending me.”</p>
<p>“Yes, I do. It…it matters to me if you’re upset about something.”</p>
<p>“What?” It’s not the most elegant thing he’s ever said, but the surprise is too much for him to handle. He’s never had someone speak that way about him- not his mother, or his father, or Junko, the closest thing he has to a friend. Or <em>had </em>to a friend, actually, because now he has Hajime. Apparently.</p>
<p>He’s not sure if he believes it entirely, deep down, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting to.</p>
<p>“I’m not repeating myself.”</p>
<p>There’s a harsh squeak as Hajime pushes his chair back, and then silence as he collects his plate. Nagito can’t see his face, which is worrying, because he can barely make amends in these situations as is, and is totally hopeless in his ability to do so without seeing Hajime’s expression. The chair legs have probably left a scuff mark on the floor- the new expensive wood he’d had put in just a few weeks ago- but he’ll leave it there as a reminder of how he needs to be better.</p>
<p>Hajime sets off for the kitchen without another word. The plate of lukewarm pizza is still sitting in front of Nagito, and it’s hard to know whether Hajime left it out of spite or if he’s still holding out hope that it will get eaten. Nagito assumes it’s the former.</p>
<p>The dining room feels empty again, the same as all those years ago, and it takes Nagito’s mind to a place he’s been trying to forget. Miaya would be so disappointed, he thinks, but the hands of self-loathing and criticism are too familiar, too home-like, to ignore. His head drops into his arms on the table. A pathetic sight for sure, but one he doubts Hajime will see. The driveway is visible from the window behind him, and it wouldn’t be shocking if he turned around to see Hajime’s car peeling away. It’s happened before, and it’s bound to happen again, no matter how much he wishes it wouldn’t.</p>
<p>“What, tired already?”</p>
<p>Nagito must be hearing things. A side effect of his diseases, surely, because the voice sounds like Hajime; and it doesn’t sound angry like he would’ve expected. He says it playfully, unbelievingly, like nothing had happened just moments before. Still, it’s too much work to lift his head, so Nagito mumbles incoherently into the table. He hears the soft padding of Hajime’s feet, the sound of him pushing the chair back into its place. And then he feels more than hears Hajime round the corner and stop beside him.</p>
<p>“You were just talking, so I know you didn’t fall asleep.”</p>
<p>Breath tickles the hairs at the back of his neck, and there’s hands on either side of his chair in a way far more intimate than he’s ever experienced. Hajime is close, <em>so close, </em>that Nagito could probably bury his nose in Hajime’s chest if he just turned around.</p>
<p>Not that he would, though. Something like that would be far too preposterous for someone like him.</p>
<p>Yet it doesn’t stop him from wanting to. Which in and of itself is a feeling he’s yet to unpack. Touch had never bothered him, per se, but he was never one to actively seek it out. A defense mechanism from his very independent childhood, Miaya had said. Another way to say ‘lonely,’ Nagito had thought. He wasn’t a fan of hugs, and friendly pats on the shoulder always felt too forced. The way Matsuda would hold his hand while delivering bad news wasn’t awful, but it never failed to leave a deep stinging in his chest. He missed it as soon as it stopped yet wished it had never begun at all.</p>
<p>Not that any of it mattered, because somehow Nagito knew being touched by Hajime would be different. It would be something he’d never get enough of, and the thought scared him endlessly.</p>
<p>“You can be weird, and you confuse me all the time, but if you’re sad I want you to tell me. Okay, Nagito?”</p>
<p>And then there’s warmth. A solid, spreading warmth that can only come from another human being draped across his back. He anticipates the hands before he feels them, and it’s second nature to tense up when they wrap sloppily around his waist. The tips of Hajime’s unusually spiky hair tickle his ear. It’s tender and raw, so unnervingly <em>human</em>, that of course he ruins it.</p>
<p>His head jolts up first, followed by the shoulder that makes harsh contact with Hajime’s jaw. There’s a sharp <em>click </em>as his teeth crash against one another. Panic blooms in Nagito’s chest, but when he turns wide eyed to assess the damage, Hajime is laughing. His hand is rubbing a noticeably red mark along the bottom of his chin, but there’s a real grin splitting his face.</p>
<p>“Hajime, I-,” Nagito spins in his chair, hands outstretched like he has any capability of fixing the situation. “I-I’m so sorry, I don’t know what-”</p>
<p>“Relax,” Hajime laughs. He waves off Nagito’s concern as he opens and closes his mouth experimentally. “I didn’t know you were such an adamant ‘no hugs’ kind of guy.”</p>
<p>“You scared me.”</p>
<p>“Yeah? You scared me too.” He saunters back to his unoccupied chair. “You’ve got some strength for someone so tiny.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t mean to.” Nagito folds his hands in his lap. He’ll tuck this memory away to overanalyze later; which will inevitably be tonight, when the knowledge that Hajime is close by makes it hard to sleep.</p>
<p>“I know you didn’t,” Hajime chides. “Now, do we have to sit here all night until you finish that slice?”</p>
<p>“Why would we do that?” The very idea of it puzzles Nagito. He can’t imagine such a thing, and for a moment panic swells inside him as the idea that this is just one more <em>normal </em>thing he’s missed crashes over him.</p>
<p>“Your parents never did that to you? Make you sit at the table until you finish all your food?”</p>
<p>Nagito shakes his head. Luck is never on his side; the very thing he’d been hoping to avoid has presented itself so nicely as Hajime’s next conversational topic. He’s really not in the mood to talk about it, but if he dodges the question Hajime will know something’s up. There’s no way for him to win.</p>
<p>“Guess it’s a little different when you live like,” Hajime waves a hand vaguely in the air, “<em>this.</em>”</p>
<p>“Yeah. I guess.” Nagito swallows thickly and tries to look anywhere but at Hajime. He’s afraid of what he’ll see. Judgement, maybe, or even worse: the all-consuming concern that makes Nagito want to tell Hajime everything.</p>
<p>“What if I cooked you something?”</p>
<p>“I couldn’t ask you to do that.”</p>
<p>“Well, you didn’t ask me, now did you?”</p>
<p>Nagito’s body recoils helplessly. Hajime’s right- he can’t argue that- but it still doesn’t feel okay. He’s supposed to be helping Hajime, not the other way around. Hajime’s the one with the bright future; the ability to change the world. Compared to him, Nagito’s nothing. It’s an honor to be near someone with such potential, Nagito needs to remember, which makes it all the more inappropriate for Hajime to do something as worthless as cook for him.</p>
<p>But his mind can’t come up with a rebuttal fast enough. It’s too difficult, what with how vehemently he’s berating himself.</p>
<p>“You’re thinking too hard about this.” Hajime’s voice cuts through his thoughts sharply. He must flinch away at the sound, because the next words come out much softer. “I don’t want to see you starve all night. Plus, I cook all the time at my dorm. It’s fun.”</p>
<p>He ends the little speech with a shrug, and if that was meant to be the convincing factor, it’s most definitely not worked. Nagito whines- a high-pitched, involuntary sound. A part of him longs to say yes; the thought of Hajime in an apron, wiping sweat off his brow as he leans over the stove for <em>Nagito </em>is a thought more appealing than he’d like to admit. But a bigger part, the more sensible part, tells him it’s improper. There’s a laundry list of reasons why.</p>
<p>“Nagito, come <em>on</em>. Just let me do this for you, alright? You’ve done so much for me already.”</p>
<p>‘That’s not true, though,’ Nagito wants to say. But he doesn’t, if only because there’s something dark chiseled into Hajime’s expression. His jaw is set firmly, almost as though it’s clenched, with his eyebrows drawn in a tight line above steely eyes. Nagito’s never been strong against someone’s anger, and the thought of making Hajime mad is more upsetting than the thought of him cooking.</p>
<p>“Okay,” he squeaks. His one simple word echoes slightly around the room. It amplifies how pathetic he sounds, Nagito thinks.</p>
<p>“It’s about time you agreed to something,” Hajime gripes. He leans his chair back on two legs. “I was starting to think you just hated the idea of me touching anything in your house.”</p>
<p>“No, i-it’s like I said before. You can do whatever you want. Ah, but please don’t fall, Hajime.”</p>
<p>Nagito wrings his hands together nervously. He can already picture what’ll happen. If Hajime pushes the chair too far, it’ll topple backwards onto the very white, very <em>hard </em>marble floor. And if Hajime hits his head, the blood will spread and spread and spread like his parents' blood on that day in the plane. Like the day he was kidnapped, when they cut his hand and his thighs, and stopped only because there was no one to pay ransom.</p>
<p>It was hard enough before. Nagito doesn’t know if he can handle it in his own house.</p>
<p>“Sorry.” The chair clatters back onto four legs.</p>
<p>“I just don’t want you to get hurt.”</p>
<p>“I know. I won’t, though.”</p>
<p>Hajime’s eyes are too piercing. They’re making Nagito uncomfortable, and he realizes then that he’s afraid Hajime will see just how much he’s hiding. It’s an incredibly raw feeling, and he worries not for the first time that maybe Hajime can read his mind.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry if I’m overbearing,” Nagito whispers. It leaves him feeling weary. He’s getting weaker, emotionally and physically, and it shows.</p>
<p>“You don’t have to apologize so much you know.” Hajime laughs at the end, peels his lips back into a real smile, but it still feels too forced. Like he’s trying to lighten the impact it’ll have on Nagito’s self-esteem. It’s a consideration not usually extended to him.</p>
<p>He receives a shrug in response, because Nagito’s brain refuses to supply himself with an answer that isn’t deprecating. It’s a nasty habit of his- one that he’s meant to be working on- but it’s a lot harder to do than it sounds.</p>
<p>Hajime sets his phone face-up on the table, and Nagito just barely glimpses the stream of texts before the screen goes black. He can’t see the names, but the number twenty-seven stands out neatly in one of the bubbles. The thing is so saturated that even the lock screen image is blocked out near entirely. Seeing it saps the energy out of him in a way he can’t reason. Suddenly, it’s like there’s a hundred miles between himself and Hajime, despite the less than three-foot gap in reality. It’s not as though he wishes for that kind of popularity. In fact, he’s more than content with the messages he receives from Hajime alone. But it’s jarring to realize how broad Hajime’s life is outside of him. He’s got friends, responsibilities, a whole world that Nagito isn’t, and probably never will be, involved in.</p>
<p>It’s a lonely sort of feeling, he supposes. Hajime is quickly becoming his entire world, as pathetic as that sounds, yet he’ll never be more than a blip in Hajime’s. As it ought to be, though, because one day he’ll be long dead, and he wouldn’t want Hajime to be <em>sad</em> about it. It’s a reasoning that should make him feel better, but it doesn’t quell the painful clenching in his chest.</p>
<p>“Nagito, you’re always getting lost somewhere in that mind of yours.” This time, there’s a twinge of annoyance laced through Hajime’s voice. His arms are crossed in front of him, and the phone is moved off the table. “It’s also eleven already, and you look like you need about fourteen hours of sleep a night, so I think it’s time we get cooking.”</p>
<p>The jab makes Nagito laugh, because he knows it’s good natured- although he would’ve laughed anyway, even if it wasn’t. It’s truer than Hajime knows. Whether from the medicine, or the disease coursing through his body, or the depression, - as Miaya suggests- he’s been sleeping unusually often lately. It eats deeply into his day.</p>
<p>“It’s how I stay so beautiful, Hajime.” The words are foreign in his mouth. He doesn’t believe them, but the smirk that tugs at Hajime’s lips make it worthwhile. It’s the closest thing he’s come to a decent joke in probably forever, even if the execution was clunky.</p>
<p>Hajime rolls his eyes. “You and Kazuichi would get along with those awful lines,” he says with a shake of his head. It’s fond in a way Nagito has only seen directed at other people.</p>
<p>“That’d be more than I can ask for,” Nagito giggles. The curtains aren’t drawn against the inky black night outside, and when Nagito looks up he sees his reflection perfectly in the window before him. He doesn’t like to make a habit of looking at himself, and he’s about to turn away out of sheer habit when something catches his eye. He looks so <em>happy</em>. Genuinely happy, with a real smile that even he can admit looks nice on his face and wide eyes that look so much more alive than normal.</p>
<p>“Being conceited?” Hajime’s beside him- and when did he get there? When did he stand up?- with Nagito’s plate of cold pizza in one hand. He reaches down with the other, and suddenly there’s a set of fingers around his own. The sheer absurdity of it makes him flinch away instinctively.</p>
<p>“You do this to me all the time. Don’t act so surprised.” Hajime rolls his eyes, but his voice shakes a little on the last few words and he very pointedly doesn’t meet Nagito’s eyes. It occurs to him, then, that Hajime is scared. Nervous about something that has to do with <em>Nagito</em>; although the reason why is unfathomable. He wants to ask, but something stops him. ‘<em>It’s not something he wants to talk about</em>,’ his mind whispers; and, ‘<em>you already know the reason, anyway</em>.’</p>
<p>Regardless, Hajime’s fingers are rough against his palm. They have to adjust their grip as Nagito stands up, just the slightest bit unsteady. In this position, their thumbs brush against each other, and it must be his imagination, but he feels the gentlest sweep against his knuckle as they make their way to the kitchen. It seems purposeful, albeit hesitant, and it makes his head cloudy.</p>
<p>Two grand doors mark the kitchen entrance. They’re too pretentious for Nagito’s taste, but he’s yet to find someone who can take them down. His parents gave him a house, not a home, and although he worries sometimes that it would displease them, tearing down the decadent, gilded furnishings has brought him great joy. Worrying over paint colors and decorations has helped him considerably, and there’s a puff of pride in his chest when he sees Hajime glance appreciatively at a painting he’s hung on the wall.</p>
<p>“You’ll have to show me where everything is,” Hajime says as they walk into the room, and although he tries to hide it, Nagito can tell just how awed he is by the space. Which, to Hajime’s credit, is rather impressive. Originally made to cater their ridiculous events, the kitchen is an imposing figure laden with restaurant grade appliances. Nagito hadn’t the heart to tear them all out, so the four stoves and three refrigerators remain, albeit mostly unused. He has, however, made it softer. Added more warm wood and bright colors; taken out the industrial metal and uninviting, sterile white.</p>
<p>“I don’t know much myself,” Nagito admits sheepishly as he slides onto one of the barstools situated around the main island.</p>
<p>“I would assume not. This place is like, truly, actually huge. You really use all of this?”</p>
<p>Hajime turns to him with an incredulous look and it’s all Nagito can do to not cringe under the weight of his stare. It’s innocent- he’s just looking for an honest answer- but Nagito really has no idea what to tell him.</p>
<p>“Not anymore,” is the response he settles for, and thankfully that seems to be enough. Hajime turns back towards the cabinets, swivels his head back and forth a few times to assess the situation, then promptly turns back towards Nagito with his arms crossed.</p>
<p>“What are you in the mood for?” He asks, followed immediately by, “and ‘whatever I want to make’ is not an acceptable answer,” as a precaution.</p>
<p>Nagito- who, to Hajime’s credit, had been about to say just that- snaps his mouth shut in embarrassment and hunkers down in his stool.</p>
<p>“Ah, I don’t really know what ingredients we have. I apologize for how little help I am. Useless as always.”</p>
<p>“Nagito.”</p>
<p>“I can help you look, though?” He says it as a hasty addition, spurred only by the disapproving look Hajime pins on him.</p>
<p>“Yeah. You can help me look.” Hajime’s voice is short, tone cold. All signs point to anger, and Nagito collapses in on himself under the weight of another mistake.</p>
<p>“Come on,” Hajime says, rounding the corner to pluck Nagito’s hand out of the tight ball it’s formed with the other. “It could be fun, right? Kind of like solving a mystery.”</p>
<p>He sounds much gentler this time, and although a part of Nagito is angry that Hajime feels the need to coddle him, he’s more relieved that he hasn’t said anything to genuinely bother the other. There’s a pattern to it, he’s realized; one that’s still too confusing for Nagito to decipher. He’s amazing at mysteries, loves them wholeheartedly, but he’s never been good with things that involve himself.</p>
<p>“There’s this guy in my dorm, Teruteru. He’s a total creep and he never stops hitting on the women, but anyway he’s an amazing chef. He’s there to study business so he can help with his restaurant back home one day, but he cooks for our whole floor at least once a week. Everyone looks forward to it, since it’s way better than anything the school can serve up.”</p>
<p>Hajime prattles on happily about the time Teruteru spiked his own soup with aphrodisiacs- and not for the first time, he stresses. They sift through the refrigerator for something Nagito finds palatable, eventually settling on an unopened container of vodka sauce hidden behind some vegetables.</p>
<p>“Do you like pasta?”</p>
<p>Hajime turns the container over in his hands, clearly looking for some kind of label. There is none, and Nagito allows himself a brief bout of laughter as he explains that it’s homemade, not from a store.</p>
<p>“Should’ve guessed,” Hajime replies, and that’s one more thing Nagito can add to his growing list of ‘reasons Hajime is so amazing.’ He’s not offended by the rather ostentatious display of Nagito’s wealth. He’s got a smile on his face, and he’s so clearly enjoying himself that Nagito doesn’t have to guess what he’s feeling. It makes him feel more normal. More in tune with people.</p>
<p>“Pasta is alright.” And then, because he’s feeling bold, Nagito adds: “I’ll like whatever Hajime cooks for me.”</p>
<p>Hajime splutters, a very unbecoming sound that Nagito enjoys just a little too much, and nearly drops the container.</p>
<p>“I hope you aren’t expecting some five-star dish. In case you’re forgetting, I cook in a shitty college dorm.”</p>
<p>They locate some pasta, then wrestle an oversized copper pot down from it’s shelf. Nagito settles comfortably back into his stool and praises whatever luck is on his side that Hajime is facing away from him. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and the muscles ripple underneath as he hoists the pot of water out of the sink. It’d be enough to make Nagito drool, if he wasn’t so undeserving of even the mere <em>thought </em>of doing so. He feels like some pent-up teenager- although not for the first time- and it’s as much a welcome change of pace as it is disgusting and perverse of him.</p>
<p>Water boils away on the stove. Hajime leans against the counter beside it and makes a valiant attempt at small talk. His eyes dart back and forth between the pot and Nagito as they converse about Hajime’s classes, the fancy braided gold tassel he’ll wear at graduation, the book Nagito’s been meaning to pick up from the store downtown. It’s evident that Hajime tries to steer the conversation around to Nagito. So considerate on his part, really, but the thought of speaking about himself makes Nagito’s stomach roil, and he’d really dislike being sick just before Hajime finishes cooking. Laying his head on the granite countertop chills his skin just enough to abate the nausea. It’s a move that receives an inquisitive glance from Hajime, but he says nothing and moves to pour the pasta into the water.</p>
<p>“This is way better than the boxed stuff Fuyuhiko buys.”</p>
<p>“My chefs are quite fond of Italian,” Nagito replies. His voice is muffled from the way his cheek is squished against the counter; something he’s grateful for, as it hides the hesitant tone he’s taken on. “They like to make spaghetti, too.”</p>
<p>Speaking of his staff makes Nagito nervous. He never knows how people will react: angry and scolding like Junko, or calmly indifferent like Matsuda, or carefully neutral like Mukuro. But Hajime’s reaction is a new one, he’s finding. It’s as though he doesn’t particularly care about it at all, choosing instead to be slightly in awe of Nagito’s strange lifestyle and then moving on just as quickly. Admirable is the word that comes to mind, and comforting, too. </p>
<p>“Have you been to Italy?”</p>
<p>The water spits. Hajime rushes to turn down the burner before the pot bubbles over, giving Nagito just enough time to piece together a response.</p>
<p>“A while ago, I think,” He begins. “I was too young to remember it. But there’s pictures somewhere.”</p>
<p>Vague, he knows, but purposeful. If he says he doesn’t remember there’s a chance Hajime won’t ask questions.</p>
<p>“I’ve never been out of the country. Uh, my parents work a lot and probably couldn’t afford it.”</p>
<p>“I can take you,” Nagito offers; at first because it’s second nature, and then because he realizes how sincerely he would enjoy that.</p>
<p>Hajime blanches, nearly dropping the wooden spoon he’s been using into the pot. “No way I could ask you to do something like that,” he sputters, wide eyed, and more than a little flustered. A rare sight to see, or at least one Nagito hasn’t seen before.</p>
<p>“You didn’t ask me though, did you?”</p>
<p>Light creates a halo on the countertop. Nagito squints, and smirks at his joke, and revels in how natural it feels to be here like this. Hajime laughs, a sharp, energetic sound, and Nagito’s cheeks hurt.</p>
<p>“Do you like cheese?” Hajime holds up a pristine block of parmesan- flown straight in from Italy if the foreign label is anything to go by. Nagito might’ve been able to read it once, during a time that’s locked away now.</p>
<p>“A little. You’re making yourself right at home.” Which, by all means, is something Nagito’s happy to see. Hajime looks relaxed, moving fluidly as he pulls open drawers and rifles through cabinets to find whatever it is he’s searching for. Fresh green herbs join the clutter beside the stove, followed by a bowl and some silverware that Hajime pinpoints effortlessly.</p>
<p>“Yeah, well, everything’s well organized.” He flicks a cabinet shut with his hip. Nagito feels his breath catch in his throat.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Nagito echoes.</p>
<p>A timer sounds, one that Nagito hadn’t even known had been set. It catches him off guard.</p>
<p>“Always check before you drain the water,” Hajime says from over his shoulder. He fishes a shell out with a fork and Nagito watches curiously as he pinches the thing between two fingers. A contemplative look crosses his face, one that seems to be over exaggerated for Nagito benefit.</p>
<p>“Does this feel done enough for you?” He cups his hand underneath the fork and crosses the short distance to stand beside Nagito. It’s such a small gesture- one that most anyone would pay no mind to- yet so unbelievably sweet. The pasta is for him, something he’s realistically well aware of, but these kinds of interactions are so foreign to him. Maybe the realization would be painful if it wasn’t one he’d had plenty of times before.  </p>
<p>Tentatively, Nagito raises himself up to meet Hajime’s outstretched hand. He holds the fork steady as Nagito presses a finger against the shell.</p>
<p>“You have to <em>squeeze </em>it,” Hajime snickers. A lovely sound, really; one spilling over with joy and innocent humor. “Here, like this.”</p>
<p>There’s pressure as Nagito’s hand is cupped gently. Hajime’s palm is still the slightest bit warm from holding onto the bowl and it radiates down Nagito’s arm like a full-blown fire. He can’t feel the pasta under the distracting touch of Hajime’s fingers, but he trusts entirely and says that it’s cooked perfectly. The words vibrate in his mouth and he hopes Hajime can’t hear the nerves fluttering in his throat.</p>
<p>“Almost done, then,” Hajime chirps as he rounds the island en route to the stove. “Just have to add the sauce and some garnish and it’ll be all set.”</p>
<p>This Hajime is different, Nagito decides. More relaxed and carefree; less stoic and quiet. Not that Hajime’s been particularly stand-offish- not at all, really- but seeing him like this makes Nagito realize something. He must act like this with his friends and being deemed worthy of seeing into that world is more than he could’ve asked for. An honor, truly.</p>
<p>There’s a twinge of jealousy mixed in, though, when he realizes that everyone else gets this Hajime, too. Nagito never thought himself a possessive person, but the thought of Hajime cooking for his roommates at odd hours, of Hajime taking someone else’s hand to teach them something, sits uncomfortably in his chest.</p>
<p>“Be careful. It’s still really hot, I think.”</p>
<p>A bowl clatters down in front of him. Nagito jolts back instinctively, Hajime makes a strangled noise of surprise, and it occurs to Nagito as he sits up that he'd been trying to be careful.</p>
<p>“Sorry,” Hajime starts as he slides up onto the stool beside Nagito. “I didn’t mean to set it down like that, but the bowl’s still pretty hot.”</p>
<p>Self-deprecation nips at his tongue. First instincts and all that, but Nagito swallows the words harshly. Hajime wouldn’t appreciate hearing them, and he’d be loath to disappoint him now.</p>
<p>“Aren’t you going to have any?”</p>
<p>There’s one bowl of pasta, one fork and one napkin. A number that doesn’t add up, considering there are two people in the kitchen.</p>
<p>“Oh, no. I’m already plenty full. This is for you, remember?”</p>
<p>Hajime leans languidly against the back of the stool. His arms reach above his head, and he stretches in a deliciously mesmerizing way. Nagito could sit and drink in the sight for ages, but there’s something more pressing to focus on.</p>
<p>“Ah, if I had known you were going to cook just for me I would’ve put up more of a fight.” Distress is slipping into his voice, he knows; and he knows, too, that Hajime can hear it. “You really didn’t need to worry about me like that. I could’ve just-”</p>
<p>“You could've what? Snuck downstairs later and ate?” The subsequent pause explains more than Nagito ever could. Hajime, as he expected, is far from pleased. “You act like a teenager.”</p>
<p>The pasta looks bland, suddenly. Tiny shreds of oregano and grated cheese speckle the top, and they’re far from captivating, but Nagito can’t make himself focus on anything else. He hasn’t even touched the fork yet.</p>
<p>“Fine. If you’re going to act like that, then here.” Something scrapes against the counter. Hajime’s wrist fills his vision seconds after, followed by the shiny metal tongs of said fork stabbing into the dish. The pasta lifts, covered in creamy pink sauce, and Nagito watches fixedly as it travels to its destination- Hajime’s mouth.</p>
<p>“Happy now?”</p>
<p>Nagito smiles. Hajime smiles back. He holds the fork out to Nagito, who takes it happily, and tucks in.</p>
<p>He’s never had pasta that tasted so good.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>They depart for bed a mere half hour later. Nagito curses the way his eyes flutter shut even as he trails Hajime up the stairs. There are four guestrooms, and he should’ve planned better, but he’s too tired to give the grand tour. He points vaguely in the direction of each and smiles when Hajime picks the one closest to his own room. Entirely meaningless, he’s sure, but still satisfying.</p>
<p>Awkward goodnights are exchanged in the hallway, followed by a stilted, tangled hug on Nagito’s part, and then the door to his suite is closing behind him. He barely recognizes entering his room, driven forward entirely by muscle memory. Collapsing into bed is heavenly. The sheets cocoon around him, pillows cushioning his neck, and it’s so <em>lovely</em>, yet something feels different. Like the bed is bigger, almost, and cold in a way it normally isn’t. Sleep is too tempting, though, and Nagito decides he’ll ponder it tomorrow.</p>
<p>That night, Nagito’s dreams are different. Instead of warm sand, there’s arms encircled tightly at his waist; gauzy curtains that filter out the sunlight and twinkle behind his eyelids as lips brush his neck. A weight against his hips that he’s never felt so intimately, hands on his legs as they hook around something solid. There’s a deep, soothing voice, brown hair that tangles in his fingers and doesn’t give when he pulls. Kind words fill his ear, the lovely stroke of a thumb against the jutting architecture of his hip that-</p>
<p>Nagito wakes with a start and his eyes burn hot.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>As always, thank you so so much for all the kudos, comments, and bookmarks! I can't believe the response this story has gotten so far with only 5 chapters published! 300 kudos already!! I truly love reading all your comments, and kudos make me super happy, so feel free to drop them! Don't forget to take some time and enjoy yourselves, lovelies :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry for this chapter taking, like, a month?? to come out. School dumped a lot of work on me so I didn't have as much time to write as I wanted to, but here it is finally! I also want to give everyone a HUGE thanks for all the kudos, bookmarks, and comments you've left! This story already has over 300 kudos and I truly can't believe it. I'm so humbled by all the positive feedback you've all given so far. :) So, with that being said, I hope you enjoy this chapter!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hajime wakes up at nine.</p>
<p>He stretches without opening his eyes, savoring the moment to bask in the yellow sun coating the room. It’s days few and far between that he doesn’t wake to the blaring sound of his alarm, or the grating, high-pitched wails of Souda singing- something he’s partial to at hours too early for such things. Today is Saturday, though, which he supposes explains the utter lack of sound. Fuyuhiko probably stayed over Peko’s, and Kazuichi must’ve landed in some other dorm. Hajime’s not worried. Actually, he’s a little relieved at having the place to himself.</p>
<p>He doesn’t remember the mattress being this comfortable, though. Or this big. The tiny, cramped beds standard in every Hope’s Peak dorm are far from luxurious. When Hajime reaches out his left hand, it hits pillows and cool, silky sheets instead of air.</p>
<p>“What is-,” he half mutters to himself before the clearly, utterly obvious answer comes rushing at him.</p>
<p>He’s at Nagito’s house. He’d slept over the night before. They’d gotten pizza, and made pasta, and talked for hours, and he can’t believe he’d ever forgotten.</p>
<p>It perfectly explains why the room is so quiet; why the bed is so large and soft that Hajime could close his eyes and sleep for the rest of the day. Nagito wouldn't mind if he did- or so he would say. It’s hard to tell with these things, Hajime finds. He’s still figuring out all the nuances, the subtle ways Nagito tilts his head or tightens his eyes, and what they mean. Being around him should be like walking on eggshells, yet somehow, it’s not. They get through the awkward moments easily enough.</p>
<p>He really can’t stay in bed all day, though. For one thing, doing so would be immensely rude. For another, Hajime knows it would send Nagito into an all out panic. It hadn’t taken long to see how completely and utterly controlled by anxiety Nagito was. He tried to hide it- valiantly, Hajime had to give him that- but the flickering eyes and white-knuckled hands were too difficult to quell.</p>
<p>There’s no use dwelling on such a thought. He needs to find his phone- needs to abate the no doubt inappropriate ramblings from a drunk Kazuichi- and then he’ll work on finding Nagito. He hadn’t so much as glanced at his phone last night, and wouldn’t be entirely surprised if it was dead. That might be preferable, actually; lengthen the amount of time before he’s forced to face whatever headache-inducing thread he’s received from his friends.</p>
<p>As it turns out, it’s not very difficult to find his phone. It’s sitting haphazardly at the edge of the bedside table, crowded up against a gangly potted plant and an ornately framed picture of some trees. A stock photo; pretty, but entirely impersonal. The tiny watermark is barely visible in the corner.</p>
<p>The phone blinks to life as soon as he lifts it, and Hajime can’t quell the mild annoyance that escapes as a sigh. He doesn’t even bother with looking, instead unlocking the thing and swiping right to the messages. It doesn’t take long for the generic “where are you? I’m already here” and “Fuyuhiko get over here, I need your help” to turn into questions about why Hajime hadn’t been answering his phone. There’s all kinds of speculation: from an idea that Nagito had kidnapped him, to Kazuichi bitterly claiming Hajime thinks himself above them now, to the most obvious of all.</p>
<p>
  <em>Kazuichi: Soooo who’s the one that’ll be walking funny tomorrow? ;)</em>
</p>
<p>Hajime hates it. Hates everything about it. The messy wording, the stupid, snarky emoticon at the end, and most of all, the tiny piece of him that wishes he and Nagito had woken up in the same bed.</p>
<p>
  <em>Hajime: You, if you don’t shut the fuck up</em>
</p>
<p>Maybe it’s unnecessarily aggressive. But Kazuichi has been known to push buttons and the retaliation never bothers him. Eggs him on more, if anything, which is exactly what Hajime dreads. Fuyuhiko responds almost instantly with a preloaded gif of someone eating popcorn. His proclivity towards the things are completely unexpected. Something Hajime thinks he learned from Peko, who learned from one of her overzealous friends. There’s nothing for Hajime to say back to it, though. So with a lack of response from Kazuichi, he tosses the phone onto the bed and peels back the covers.</p>
<p>The first observation he makes is that he’s wearing Nagito’s pajamas. Although they probably aren’t <em>really</em> Nagito’s- just a pair he keeps in the spare room on the off chance someone sleeps over. They’re comfortable; made of shiny, vibrantly colored navy silk. The sleeves are a touch too long, though, and same with the legs. They’re just baggy enough that Hajime can’t quite picture them fitting Nagito, and the thought curdles his stomach in a way he finds completely unacceptable. He can’t be getting jealous over something he doesn’t even know- some kind of fantasy he’s created. Besides, he has no right to be upset about who Nagito has over.</p>
<p><em>Better here than in his room, </em>Hajime’s mind betrays him. It’s a thought he won’t allow himself to dwell on, so with a quick shake of his head, he focuses on locating some clothes. Nagito had told him last night- in a slurred, sleepy voice- that he was welcome to wear anything he could find in the drawers. ‘Should be fully stocked,’ were his exact words.</p>
<p>The dresser isn’t packed with clothing, to be fair, but there’s much more than he would’ve expected for a simple guest room. Everything looks to be about the same size as the pajamas, and that uncomfortably tight feeling returns at the thought that this person has more than just a few things stashed away here. The only piece that’s caught his eye- a posh, floral button down that Hajime’s loathe to admit is just his style- suddenly disgusts him. There’s nothing wrong with his clothes, he thinks, and throws the shirt back into the drawer with a definitive huff.</p>
<p>Petty, maybe, but no one has to know about it.</p>
<p>Regardless, he feels decidedly better after slipping into his own shirt and pants. They’re a little wrinkled, but it’s nothing a quick adjustment in the mirror can’t fix. It’s a tall, sleek thing propped stylishly in the corner of a small alcove. There’s a window beside it, and some kind of thin-stemmed flower in a massive glass vase on the floor. Hajime wonders offhand if Nagito decorated himself. It’s hard to imagine him elbow deep in paint cans and flooring samples; then again, it’s hard to imagine him doing much of anything, really.</p>
<p>Kind of harsh, but true nonetheless. Nagito’s just so <em>fragile</em>.</p>
<p>Hajime tucks a strand of unruly hair behind his ear, smoothes down the front of his shirt, and makes for the bathroom. He finds it just as well stocked as he’d expected, with lavender hand lotion and tiny rolled towels and a blue robe hanging by the tub. The toothpaste is expired, though, so Hajime digs through the cabinet to find a better one.</p>
<p>His phone dings just as he’s drying off his hands. A text from Kazuichi undoubtedly; one that he chooses to ignore without even reading it. On the off chance that it is something serious, Fuyuhiko will take care of it.</p>
<p>When he exits the bathroom, Hajime takes note of the decorative pillows scattered beside the bed. They’d been arranged as skillfully as the rest of the room, aligned in the kind of configuration he’d expect from a magazine or five-star hotel. It’s a fruitless effort to get them looking presentable again, and Nagito had mentioned something last night about maids, but Hajime feels bad leaving them thrown about like that. So he pulls the sheets into a mockery of their former neatness and stacks the pillows carefully on top. It’s far from pretty, but it’s much better than before.</p>
<p>“Good as it’ll get,” Hajime mutters to himself, and makes his way towards the door. He throws one last look over his shoulder- if someone else really will be cleaning up here it’ll be embarrassing to leave a mess- before exiting into the hallway.</p>
<p>It’s eerily quiet. Sure, the sun is streaming blindingly through the windows, and a cool breeze is wafting in, but the place feels too <em>empty</em>. Like all it’s inhabitants have left except Hajime. He wonders- and how many times is it now? Too many to count- if this is how Nagito feels every morning. It’s a sad thought.</p>
<p>Nagito’s room is to the right, just before the stairs. The double doors are closed, and as Hajime passes, he can’t shake the impulse that wants him to open them, take a better look at Nagito’s life. Very inappropriate, he tells himself, and moves on. There’ll be a time for that soon enough, another part whispers, and he picks up his pace.</p>
<p>“Knock it off,” he muetters. He’s suddenly thankful for the lack of people; he doesn’t want Nagito’s staff- or worse, Nagito himself- to think he’s out of his mind.</p>
<p>There’s a dilemma here, though, Hajime realizes as he reaches the foyer. He has no idea where Nagito might be in this massive house. The small part he’s seen of it already has been confusing enough, and he’s sure there must be countless more rooms hidden who knows where. But Nagito loves his sunroom, and Hajime thinks he remembers some offhand comment about liking to drink tea there in the morning.  He thinks he remembers the way there, too, which makes it the most logical first place to look. Through the sitting room, to the game room, down the hallway filled with doors, into the music room, and then finally, straight across to his destination. Easy in theory.</p>
<p>He’s halfway down the hallway when something catches his eye through an open door. A head of shoulder-length, mauve hair staring intently at something on the table.</p>
<p>“Chiaki?”</p>
<p>He’d never been able to startle her; even when he tried. Chiaki, who he sees now is tending so carefully to the set of papers before her, does nothing more than lift her head and smile. It’s the one Hajime remembers vividly. The one seared into his mind with a honey-sweet voice and wondrous pink eyes, and she’s</p>
<p>“Hajime?”</p>
<p>-just as beautiful as before. But different now. So, so different, because it’s been a decade and she’s not the same person anymore.</p>
<p>“I wasn’t expecting you to be here this morning. But then I saw your car out front and I was hoping I would run into you.”</p>
<p>“Uh, yeah. I stayed late finishing a paper, so Nagito offered to let me sleep here instead of driving back to campus.”</p>
<p>Chiaki hums. “He is very nice like that.”</p>
<p>“Yeah. He is.” Hajime shuffles slightly and thinks about how he regrets wearing the same clothes. He thinks, too, about how nine at night isn’t really <em>late</em>.</p>
<p>“Oh, but he’s not up yet. So why don’t you sit with me for a little bit? I think we have some catching up to do.”</p>
<p>Then she turns toward him- stares right into his soul with the open sincerity Hajime remembers. He couldn’t refuse even if he wanted to.</p>
<p>“We do,” he answers simply.</p>
<p>She releases another of her gentle smiles and begins collecting the papers with the kind of haste that means they’re private. Hajime’s never been overly curious, but Chiaki’s never been one to rush, either. It makes him wonder what they could be about. More so, it makes him wonder if this is just another thing that’s changed.</p>
<p>The table she’s sitting at is tiny, made of a glossy wood that reflects the sun streaming in the windows. It’s one thing Hajime’s noticed- Nagito’s affinity for natural light and the thin gossamer curtains that billow when the breeze comes in.  </p>
<p>“It’s nice being so close to the water,” Chiaki says when she notices Hajime’s gaze. He hadn’t even realized himself that he’d been staring. She’d always been the more observant one.</p>
<p>“I can imagine,” Hajime replies. But that doesn’t seem like enough, and Chiaki looks like she’s waiting for more, so he adds, “It must be nice to work here everyday.”</p>
<p>“You don’t have to feel uncomfortable, you know. It’s only me.”</p>
<p>So she can tell, then. Hajime shouldn’t have expected anything less.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sorry, it’s-” he pauses, clears his throat and tries again. “It’s <em>strange</em>, you know? It’s been ten years.”</p>
<p>“I know, Hajime.” Chiaki smiles, but her eyes are sad. They remind him of a time long gone. “I missed you.”</p>
<p>Hajime swallows. “I missed you, too.”</p>
<p>He sits at the table, finally. The chair makes a shrill scraping sound when he drags it out. His face heats up, but Chiaki laughs, and suddenly it’s like no time has passed at all.</p>
<p>It’s strange seeing her like this; more mature, without her gaming consoles or sleepy grins. The last thing he remembers are sweaters with cat ears and scraped knees from the playground, and it’s jarring to see a woman in the place of a girl.</p>
<p>“You’re acting like a stranger, Hajime.” She reaches out a hand expectantly. When their fingers meet, it feels like no time has passed at all.</p>
<p>“I feel like a stranger,” he replies, whisper quiet. They’re having a moment that feels far too intimate for a breakfast table at mid-morning.</p>
<p>Until Chiaki breaks it with a laugh that rings throughout the whole room. It’s high-pitched and soft around the edges; a bright and cheery sound, albeit not as bright and cheery as another laugh he’s heard.</p>
<p>“Dramatic like always. You talk a lot more now, though, don’t you?”</p>
<p>“No.” Hajime can feel the blush rising to his cheeks. He’s been doing that a lot lately, he’s come to realize, and it irks him.</p>
<p>“If you say so.”</p>
<p>They settle into an amicable silence. It’s- like most things with Chiaki- easy. Sure they haven’t seen each other in years, but sitting here Hajime feels like he has all the time in the world. There’s no rush to spill the details about a decade’s worth of life. It’s simply enough to enjoy each other’s company.</p>
<p>“So, how did you meet Nagito?” Chiaki asks eventually. She narrows her eyes in contemplation and places a finger to her lips. It’s a gesture so nostalgic it nearly takes the breath from Hajime’s lungs.</p>
<p>Well, it’s either the gesture or the jarring realization that he’ll have to explain the strange circumstances around him and Nagito meeting. Hajime’s mouth runs dry at the prospect of having the first thing he shares with Chiaki be his stint into the world of sugar babies.</p>
<p>“He doesn’t go to school. And he rarely ever leaves, so,” She pauses, eyes lighting up with a playful mirth. “You met him online. It’s the only thing I can think of.”</p>
<p>So Nagito hadn’t shared any information. That was good; it gave him more room for creative liberty, as he liked to put it. Not lying. He would never lie to her, but he wasn’t above fudging some details.</p>
<p>“Yeah, you got me,” Hajime shoots her a weak smile and hopes his laugh doesn’t sound too nervous. “My, uh, my friends thought I needed to find someone so they set me up on this site and that’s how I met him.”</p>
<p>A reasonable enough answer, he thinks, if a little light on actual details. Maybe not enough to satisfy Chiaki, but he’d deal with that when they got there.</p>
<p>It only occurs to him after that he’s phrased it as though him and Nagito are romantically involved.</p>
<p>“That’s good. He needs a friend, you know. Sometimes I think he’s lonely.”</p>
<p>She opens her mouth like there’s more to say, but something calculating flashes through her expression and she closes it just as quickly. Her eyes dart to the door just behind Hajime’s shoulder.</p>
<p>“How did you meet him?” Hajime asks in response, because he genuinely is curious. Really, how <em>does </em>one come to work for someone like Nagito?</p>
<p>Chiaki looks almost grateful for the question. “Our parents knew each other.”</p>
<p>Knew. Hajime doesn’t know if it’s a slip of the tongue, some left over anxiety from whatever had riled her before, or if there’s something going on that he doesn’t know about. Something dark tells him it’s the latter, and he doesn’t like whatever it is that coils itself so tightly around his chest.</p>
<p>“We’ve known each other our whole lives, but it was hard to stay in touch,” she continues. “We didn’t exactly live near each other.”</p>
<p>Which is entirely true. Nagito’s luxurious, ocean view mansion is a far cry from the quaint but tiny town he and Chiaki grew up in. Even now, when Hajime lives but twenty minutes away in the same city, there seems to be a gap between Nagito’s little corner of the world and the rest of reality.</p>
<p>“So you knew all of this existed back when we were kids?” Hajime gestures broadly to the room. He means to be funny, but Chiaki doesn’t look amused.</p>
<p>“He’s had a hard life,” Chiaki says, frowning. The expression makes Hajime feel bad for trying to crack a joke. “A couple years ago he needed some help, so I offered. He insisted on paying me for it, though, and it kind of just became my job.”</p>
<p>She finishes the statement with a shrug. There’s gaps in her story too, Hajime realizes- much like his and Nagito’s own. Maybe that’s why she never pressed him for more.</p>
<p>“Oh. Uh, well, it is at least nice? Do you enjoy it?”</p>
<p>Nagito seems like a friendly enough employer. Although, Hajime doesn’t see what there is for Chiaki to do around here. He can’t imagine her as a maid, and last thing he knew, she had no cooking skills to speak of. So that nixed chef.</p>
<p>“I do,” she replies. Nothing more, nothing less. It leaves Hajime grasping for straws. He’s never been the chattier of the two, and he’s finding it hard to carry on the conversation with her short responses. They’re both hiding something.</p>
<p>So he says nothing. Just fidgets with his hands on top of the table and waits for Chiaki to speak again.</p>
<p>Which she does soon enough. This time she runs her finger along the top of her pen and asks Hajime about school. A force of habit- the motion- Hajime guesses. It reminds him of how she’d thumb the joystick of her controllers.</p>
<p>“Still play?” He asks, gesturing towards her hand. She’d been quite invested in his story about Hope’s Peak and it takes her a moment to understand the question.</p>
<p>“Of course. Did you really think I’d ever give that up?”</p>
<p>“I’d know better than that.”</p>
<p>“You would,” Chaiki replies, in that same all-knowing, nostalgic way that’s becoming common for this conversation. “Have you seen Nagito’s game room? Incredible.”</p>
<p>“I have. You’re right. It’s, uh, really something.”</p>
<p>Hajime thinks pointedly of the new console sitting snugly in said room. Just the thought makes his cheeks heat up; another incriminating response that he prays Chiaki doesn’t question.</p>
<p>“He doesn’t use it much anymore. Which is a shame. I think he’d really enjoy it.”</p>
<p>Chiaki says that about everyone, so it doesn’t surprise Hajime to hear it. What does seem strange, though, is the former comment.</p>
<p>“He doesn’t use it?”</p>
<p>“No. He doesn’t like being in there, I think. He designed it himself a little while back, spent days researching everything he needed. With my help, of course,” she adds proudly. “But then he just stopped using it. He’s more interested in reading, I guess.” She punctuates her sentence with a shrug.</p>
<p>“Oh.”</p>
<p>Hajime doesn’t know what else to say, really. It’s a puzzling thought considering how much time he’s spent in the room so far. To think that Nagito doesn’t like being in there, that it might make him uncomfortable for some reason, doesn’t sit right with Hajime.</p>
<p>“Hello?”</p>
<p>The new voice is surprising. It jolts Hajime right out his thoughts; so much so that his knee hits the table with a loud crack.</p>
<p>Chiaki raises her voice in greeting at exactly the same time Nagito rushes forward, spewing apologies. It becomes too much noise at once, a flurry of voices invading the peaceful quiet.</p>
<p>“It’s- ow- <em>fine</em>, Nagito. Don’t worry about it.”</p>
<p>“It’s not fine. You’re hurt because I startled you.”</p>
<p>The concern in his voice is more than evident. Hajime hopes- really, truly hopes- that he hasn’t accidentally triggered one of Nagito’s monologues. It’s too early for that sort of thing; he doesn’t have the energy to deal with it, and the brewing annoyance that his time catching up with such a precious friend is over is bound to make him more snappish than normal.</p>
<p>“Do you want to sit with us?” Chiaki offers amicably. She’d always known what to say at the right time.</p>
<p>Whatever Nagito was about to say dies on his tongue. “Am I interrupting something?” He questions. There’s genuine confusion in his tone and his forehead pinches as he tries to decipher the scene in front of him.</p>
<p>“No, not at all.” Chiaki smiles warmly, comfortingly, and that annoyance is bubbling viciously to the surface again. “Hajime and I were just catching up, that’s all. It’s been so long since we talked.”</p>
<p>It’s childish, and silly, and most of all confusing. Because for all he wants to see Nagito- for all he felt more awake the second Nagito stepped in the room- he wants just a little more time alone with his old friend.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I came looking for you when I got up, but I found Chiaki. She told me you weren’t awake yet so we’ve just been talking. Waiting.” He adds the last word as a quiet afterthought, not sure how it will go over with Nagito, but wanting to assure him that it had really just been a coincidence. He’s not sure why he feels the need, though. It’s strange.</p>
<p>And Nagito’s still just standing there, which makes the whole thing that much more awkward. His hands are tucked close to his body in a way that tells Hajime he feels conflicted; like a stranger. An outsider.</p>
<p>“You can sit down if you want, you know,” Hajime says, and it comes out as more of a grumble than he had wanted.</p>
<p>“Did you have something planned for today, Nagito?” Chiaki asks immediately after, voice much more gentle. “It’s such a nice day outside, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Nagito answers. His eyes are on Hajime, but they aren’t focused. “Would you like to go to the beach?”</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>The wind is stronger than Hajime expected. It’s near constant, blowing his hair all around his face. He’s silently thankful for the haircut Fuyuhiko forced him into last week when he sees the way Nagito struggles to keep his own hair out of his eyes.</p>
<p>The beach is much bigger than he would’ve thought. It stretches on for a good mile in each direction and, with no other houses in sight, Hajime assumes the entire thing must belong to Nagito. They’ve ventured dangerously close to the water. More than a few times, Hajime’s had to jump back to avoid the water licking at his shoes. It doesn’t seem to bother Nagito, though, who’s taken an interest in a cluster of rocks a few paces away from them.</p>
<p>“Should’ve brought a hair tie,” Nagito jokes weakly. At least, that’s what Hajime thinks he says. Nagito’s voice is too soft- it gets whisked away in the breeze.</p>
<p>“We can go back,” Hajime offers. “It’s not a far walk.”</p>
<p>Nagito shakes his head. He takes a step forward, away from the sand and onto the shallow dip of the largest rock. A particularly strong gust comes by then and the back of his coat flies out dramatically. He wobbles, and Hajime fears he’ll fall.</p>
<p>“No. I want to stay here. I haven’t been out here in so long.”</p>
<p>The words are sad. Hajime doesn’t know why, because when Nagito turns to look at him he’s smiling widely. He looks overjoyed- with his hair flying around his head like a halo and his jacket out behind him like a cape- but his words lack the same energy.</p>
<p>“Okay.” He takes a half step forward instinctively. Nagito’s teetering closer and closer to a particularly water soaked rock, and Hajime can’t help the nervousness coiling in his gut. “Be careful, though. It’s wet.”</p>
<p>“I know, Hajime.”</p>
<p>Nagito’s voice is but a whisper. Hajime only hears remnants of it above the crashing waves. He’s stopped walking at least, settling instead for tilting his head back and thrusting his arms out to the sides. His fingers are taut, fragile bones prominent below pale skin.</p>
<p><em>He’s playing around</em>, Hajime’s mind assures him. But then Nagito pivots his head, and Hajime sees the anguish, the melancholy, the utter <em>despair </em>swirling around his storm-cloud eyes. They’re vibrant here against the backdrop of gray-blue water. A mockery of what they’re like in the sun, but gorgeous nonetheless.</p>
<p>“Don’t you want to join me?” Nagito asks and Hajime falters, because the words sound so corporeal, yet Nagito’s lips are still.</p>
<p>He’s moving regardless. The tide washes over his shoes as he gingerly crosses what’s left of the beach, and when he makes contact with the first bit of rock, he’s surprised at how slippery it really is. He’s not wearing the proper shoes for this. Neither is Nagito, and it worries him more than he’d like to admit.</p>
<p>“I’m not a very good swimmer,” He says as a warning. Droplets spray his leg as waves break against the rocks. A particularly strong one crashes right in front of Nagito, drenching his shins and the bottom of his jacket. It hangs limply now, too heavy to fly behind him like before. </p>
<p>“Neither am I, Hajime.”</p>
<p>Hajime doesn’t like that response. Doesn’t like it at <em>all</em>, and hurries as best he can the rest of the way to Nagito.</p>
<p>“Then why are you standing up here?” Hajime asks, more than a little annoyed. He doesn’t understand it. Does Nagito think it’s funny?</p>
<p>“Sometimes you have to live a little, right Hajime?” Is the snarky reply. Nagito’s tone is purposefully clipped so that Hajime can’t detect the real emotion underneath it. He doubts it’s anything good.</p>
<p>Except, when he finally reaches Nagito and turns to face him, he’s met with a wide smile and mirthful eyes. The genuine kind. It’s a jarringly drastic difference from mere moments ago.</p>
<p>“Did you think I was being serious? Hajime, you need to learn how to take a joke.”</p>
<p>If he wasn’t so afraid of injuring him, Hajime wouldn’t have hesitated to push Nagito into the water.</p>
<p>But it isn’t like Nagito- this pointed kind of humor. He’s funny, sure, but in a shy, unsteady way. Hajime’s seen the way his eyes dart around like he’s analyzing things; judging facial expressions and body posture and anything else that gives away emotion. Nagito’s clever- unbelievably so- and Hajime’s yet to see him do anything by accident.</p>
<p>“You need to focus on not falling,” Hajime mutters back, but there’s none of the bite that would’ve been there if it was anyone besides Nagito.</p>
<p>“If I fall, maybe I’ll get swept away and become a mermaid. Would you visit me, Hajime? We could sit on this rock together and share stories about our worlds.”</p>
<p>Nagito looks excitedly at the rock beneath them, and for a moment Hajime really thinks he’s about to sit down. Instead, Nagito twists his body to look back at the house. It still towers monstrously above them, but even Hajime has to admit it looks a little smaller from here, tucked behind the subtle slope of the backyard.</p>
<p>“You could live here, Hajime,” Nagito continues. “I would give it all to you. You can move into my suite since it has such a nice balcony. I wouldn’t even be mad if you threw out all the furniture, even though I worked so hard to make it look nice.”</p>
<p>“Well, it’s much better than my dorm,” Hajime jokes lamely. Mostly because he doesn’t know what else to say.</p>
<p>“Would you miss me?”</p>
<p>His voice comes out a little choked. Hajime had thought they were joking, but Nagito’s eyes are piercing him then, looking deeper and deeper into his soul for something he can’t seem to find. It’s almost creepy.</p>
<p>So maybe that’s why he blurts it out. The question that’s been bubbling just below the surface ever since Nagito called him.</p>
<p>“Why did you ask me to come here yesterday?”</p>
<p>Except he shouldn’t have said it like that. There’s no excuse- he needed to be more subtle- because Nagito’s staring at him, eyes blown wide, and he looks-</p>
<p>He looks scared. Unbelievably so.</p>
<p>“I-”</p>
<p>He cuts Nagito off. “I mean it’s okay! I didn’t mind! It’s great spending time with you, and I’m having so much fun, but you sounded upset on the phone. I wanted to know what was wrong.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t,” Nagito pauses, swallows hard, and Hajime can see the way his throat bobs and constricts at the movement. “I didn’t mean to alarm you.”</p>
<p>This is not the Nagito Hajime knows. Everything about it is <em>wrong</em> and it’s all because of him.</p>
<p>“No, you didn’t alarm me.”</p>
<p>Nagito’s eyes are still too large. He looks like a caged animal, and his hands are up in front of him now, like he’s surrendering, and when he takes a step back all Hajime can see is his head disappearing under the waves.</p>
<p>“No!”</p>
<p>He lurches forward out of instinct, arms outstretched. It’s a gesture born of care, yet Nagito flinches back like he’s about to be struck. Terror flashes through his expression, and Hajime swears in that moment that he’s forgotten to breathe. He steps back immediately, arms pulled back tight to his sides.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry. I’m not going to do anything. I thought you were going to fall.” His voice comes out weak and makes Hajime realize he’s in incredibly over his head. Nagito doesn’t say anything back. He looks less tense, but it doesn’t go unnoticed how unnaturally still he is.</p>
<p>“I just want to know if something is bothering you, is all. We’re friends, Nagito, aren’t we? That means I’m concerned when you seem sad.”</p>
<p>That blank, gaping stare is back, and it occurs to Hajime with jarring clarity that this is the expression of someone who hadn’t considered such a thing. Of someone painfully out of their depth. It stings his chest.</p>
<p>It’s the expression of someone who, perhaps until then, hadn’t known to equate friendship with worry and compassion. Hajime wants nothing more than to shatter whoever taught him differently.</p>
<p>“It seemed like there was something wrong,” Hajime continues. He can’t bring himself to raise his voice above a hoarse whisper, and he hopes that Nagito can hear it. “In all the time we’ve been talking I’ve never heard you sound so upset.”</p>
<p>“Please don’t worry about someone like me, Hajime. I’m- it’s not worth the time.”</p>
<p>He looks gorgeous, Hajime thinks, and hates himself for it. Gorgeous in a tortured way, in a lonely way, with hair flying like a halo and deep, melancholy eyes. The ocean is endless behind him, swallowing Nagito, and himself, and the house, and it occurs to Hajime then how tiny they are. How insignificant.</p>
<p>There’s two feet between them, yet Nagito feels miles away. Like he did in the cafe, in the sunroom, in the dining room last night. Like he did when they had first started talking, back when Nagito was nothing more than a nervous voice on the phone.</p>
<p>But he’s gorgeous. Even if it is tortured.</p>
<p>And then it happens. A wave, stronger and bigger than the previous ones, knocks fiercely into Nagito’s shins. It catches him off guard and he stumbles, faltering backwards; and then he’s falling, and Hajime must be screaming because there’s noise other than the wind. He can’t see Nagito’s head beneath the frothing white foam. It’s dissipating, but not fast enough. What if Nagito hit his head? How deep is the water? What if he’s sinking down, down, down, to the ocean floor while Hajime’s standing here, doing nothing but panicking?</p>
<p>“Get yourself together,” Hajime screams. It’s so melodramatic, and he’d curse himself for it in any other situation, but now isn’t the time to worry about such things. Still, the thought of having to jump into that foaming, tumbling water is scarier than he’d like to admit, and it shouldn’t be stopping him from potentially saving Nagito’s life, but it is. Or seems to be.</p>
<p>He knows nothing about drowning victims other than their tendencies to drag their rescuers down with them. But that’s not what concerns him- mostly because he still doubts Nagito would have the strength. No, it’s that they’re here alone; not far from the house, but far enough that running for help would waste precious time. Hajime can’t stop the harrowing images of Nagito, unmoving and not breathing, from flashing through his mind. It’d be terrifying to see anyone that way, but there’s something else- some extra kind of fear gripping his body- that he doesn’t understand.</p>
<p>The best thing to do, Hajime decides, is take off anything that could weigh him down. He tears off his jacket, not caring where it lands when he flings it to the side, and is halfway through removing his right shoe when he hears something break the water. There’s a retching, gasping noise, the desperate scratching of fingernails, and then a head of white hair.</p>
<p>“Nagito!” Hajime dashes forward, nearly tripping over his untied shoelaces. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”</p>
<p>Relief floods Hajime’s body the second he closes his hand around that bony wrist. Then he’s hoisting Nagito back up with all his strength, feet braced and back bent with the effort of pulling dead weight. Nagito, for his part, is trying to help, but his hands claw unsuccessfully at the loose pebbles and his vision is obscured by the hair plastered across his face.</p>
<p>Mere seconds feel like hours, but soon enough Nagito is crouched safely in the middle of that cursed outcropping. Hajime vows to never let him back up there again- for his sake just as much as Nagito’s. He doesn’t think he can handle the fierce pounding of his heart more than once.</p>
<p>“Are you okay?” It’s a stupid question to ask really, because of course Nagito’s not okay. His fingers curl pitifully into the fabric of his soaked jacket, body shuddering with the effort of gulping air.</p>
<p>His question gets a spluttered, watery reply. It sounds like Nagito’s choking- which he is, Hajime realizes- when he doubles over and coughs up a mouthful of water. It splatters across the rocks.</p>
<p>“Ha-Hajime-” Nagito whines, truly <em>whines, </em>and it’s the most heart-wrenching sound Hajime’s ever heard from him. From anyone.</p>
<p>“It’s okay, Nagito. It’s okay. You’re safe.”</p>
<p>Hajime Hinata had never been one to coddle his friends. He’d never been the child to carry band-aids in his backpack and offer them up for scraped knees and elbows at recess. He’d never been the one to console a heartbroken best friend at three in the morning, too awkward and self conscious of his words for such a thing. He loved them all, for sure, but in quiet, subtle ways; like the roll of eyes, or extra servings when he cooked, or a friendly punch on the shoulder than just happened to land where it hurt the least.</p>
<p>But when he pulls Nagito into a hug, clings to his water-logged clothes with both hands, and whispers all the comforting words he’s ever heard into the air between them, he wonders what about this is so different.</p>
<p>And he tries- for his sake, or Nagito’s, or both- to pretend that everything is okay.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Hajime returns to his dorm that night. He carefully unwraps the console from its tissue paper, making sure to text Nagito in mock surprise about how he’d left the big, sparkling bow behind. He sits it humbly on the shelf beside the older, dusty model, and tries not to feel alone when it boots up for the first time. The games Nagito ordered for him have yet to arrive, so he fiddles with the custom settings for a minute before powering the thing off and slipping into bed.</p>
<p>He lays there for hours, tossing and turning, unable to find a suitable position. Nothing he does makes him comfortable. It’s the mattress, he tells himself at first; spending the night in Nagito’s guest room really raised his expectations. When that doesn’t help, he chalks it up to the strain on his arms, sore now that the adrenaline has long worn off.</p>
<p>But he knows the truth. It’s not the mattress, or his aching muscles, or even the rhythmic snoring he hears from Kazuichi’s room. It’s a question, so tiny and insignificant at the moment, but so glaringly obvious now.</p>
<p>
  <em>Would you miss me?</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hajime's console brought to you by my sadness at not having a PS5 yet :( </p>
<p>So, who do you think left the clothes at Nagito's house? As always, feel free to leave a comment or kudos if you have any thoughts/feelings/things you want to talk about! And apologies for not answering all the comments from the last chapter yet. I haven't forgotten about them! Have a lovely day, thanks for reading, and don't forget to take time to do something you love :)</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A good portion of the second chapter is already written, so I hope to have it up relatively soon! Comments and kudos make me super happy, so if you're enjoying the story so far I'd love to know! :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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